


The Battles We Choose

by Hoglorfen (LadyWhin)



Series: In The Glow Of The Mountain [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bondage, Drama & Romance, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mordor, Multi, Orc Culture, Orcs, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 72,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhin/pseuds/Hoglorfen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even at the best of times, life in the Black Land is a struggle and its denizens seem to be their own worst enemies. A certain Orc finds that out the hard way. Sequel to "Wolves and Shattered Shields".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt Is On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: "Paid In Full" by Sonata Arctica

First there was pain. Blistering, mind-searing pain, beyond screams and reason.  
Second there was darkness. A darkness so deep that all light memory waned in its presence.  
Third there was the voice. Whispering, booming, reaching inside.  
_WHO ARE YOU?_  
It wanted to answer, but there was none.  
_YOU ARE MINE._  
A purpose, a reason!  
_MY CHILD, MY CREATION._  
A history, an origin.  
_SEE ME._

Slowly the existence came to. It tried to see, but the light was painful. Someone shielded it from it, and it opened its eyes and looked around the room. Everything was black except the torch and the Eye. It closed its eyes again, taking a deep breath. Then it looked at the one who shielded it from the searing light. The man's eyes burned, so intense that it could not meet His gaze.  
”No,” he said. ”See me.” It forced itself to meet His gaze. ”What do you remember?”  
It moved its dry, broken lips to speak. ”Darkness.” The man seemed pleased with the answer.  
”And who am I?”  
”Father,” it whispered. ”Creator. Master. Fire.”  
The man laughed at this, a laughter that rang off the walls, so beautiful it brought tears to its eyes.  
”Rise,” He said and beckoned with slender fingers.  
It rose mechanically as its body remembered something its self did not. The man gave an order to help 'her'. _A shape, an existence!_ Two other, lesser men took place on each side and supported her as they followed Him out of the room, through a corridor and into another room. This one was lit by small braziers in the corners. The man turned towards her.  
”Who are you?” He asked again.  
”I am yours.” The answer came naturally, now that she knew it. The two lesser men covered her body with a soft black silken cloak.  
The man smiled, a terrible, beautiful smile. ”I am your Master. You are mine. But you can be more.” He took her face in His hands, His burning eyes boring into her. ”You can be my weapon against my enemies, my lash against my slaves. You can be the living, breathing sign to elves and Men alike that none can stand against me, not even the Noldor. You can walk where others fall, succeed where others falter. You can be Záhovar.”

 _A name? But not yet._ He let her go and turned away. ”But first you must learn and prove yourself worthy. I have no use for the useless. You will be given tutors; learn what they have to teach you. Do not fail me.”  
  
Catching the elf's warped fëa had been like catching an invisible, soaped-up eel. Only the taint upon it had told Him of its existence in the Wraith-world and allowed Him to hold onto it as He released the final spell. But now it was done and, judging by the answers she had given, successful. Still, He had to be careful. If she regained her memories too soon the delicate cage He had placed inside her could be broken and her fëa escape. For now, it was better to leave her without all but the most vital of memories, like how to walk and talk. The rest He would portion out over time, disguised as learning.  
  
  
”You're a bloody madman.” Praktash snorted.  
”Yeah, well he started it.” Graznikh carried a hacked-off leg on his shoulder.  
”That didn't mean you had to pull a knife on him. He was a wimp, all talk and no claws.”  
”And now he won't bother any of us again.”  
”Pity. He was fun to mess with.”  
Graznikh sighed. His temper seemed to only get worse with time. He had always pictured himself as a sensible warrior who didn't take unnecessary risks, but after the Eye touched his insides something had snapped, and once the red haze clouded his vision there was no stopping the carnage that ensued. ”Why do you even try to keep me alive?”  
”You know why. I like you. Besides, you're a bloody one-Orc-army once you get riled up. If the tarks come we just stick two knives in your hands, mention you-know-who to you and point you at the enemy. You'd depopulate the West in no time.”  
Graznikh couldn't help but laugh. ”The Eye makes sure to keep those it finds useful. You may be all bullshit, but you're a real zealot deep down.”  
Praktash grinned. ”How do you think I've stayed alive this long without fightin'?”  
”By sucking cock to those above and giving it to those below?”  
Praktash grinned even wider. ”Yeah, that too.”

As they returned to the stashroom, Graznikh's warg lifted its head and gave them a welcoming growl. Seven years had passed since Graznikh and Zuzar came to the Tower, and the warg had now grown to full maturity. It barely fitted on Graznikh's mattress anymore and they had been forced to widen the door, but curled up against the warg's warm belly was the only place Graznikh managed to sleep without being harried by nightmares. Graznikh grinned at his 'pup' and threw the leg. ”Here buddy, catch!” Meat was difficult to come by and most of the Tower's inhabitants were fed an oily, sludgelike gruel dotted by minuscule cubes of meat. Feeding a fully grown warg in the Orc city would have been impossible if Zuzar hadn't been hunting most of its food itself. And Graznikh made sure to take the warg for a run outside the gates regularly so it would not trash the workshop in a restless fit.  
”I was thinking 'bout going to the scrubhouse later,” Graznikh said. ”You wanna join?”  
”To watch your pretty arse? Sure,” Praktash purred. Graznikh laughed. Praktash's preferences were obvious, but the Uruk never made any serious passes at him. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only one except the Top Ones who was completely safe from Praktash's advances.  
  
Praktash grinned. Half a year had passed since the bond died, and things were finally going back to normal. Graznikh had spent the first few weeks afterwards howling and screaming in that funny dialect of his, calling the name of his lost mate even in his sleep. Praktash realised that his buddy had never really given up hope about the Elf and he couldn't help but be impressed that she had lasted as long as she had. He figured it must've been a tough bastard.  
Zuzar had been a great help during the healing process, first by simply lying on top of its master as he thrashed, assisting Praktash in getting the drugs into him to calm him down and later by dragging the depressed berserker out of his booze nest and into the world. And slowly but surely, Graznikh had learned to enjoy life again.  
  
If anyone else had found him on the walls that night long ago, Graznikh would have been dead for sure. He had shown such obvious signs of weakness during his stay in Lugburz that anyone else would have killed him for it. Anyone but Praktash. As long as Graznikh kept his shit together, he was alright. Just fine, actually. And sensible folk who did not run in the other direction once they got a whiff of Praktash's lousy reputation were hard to come by in Lugburz. Sure, a lot of people depended on him for booze or a cure for the headache after, or other ailments that they were not tough enough to deal with on their own, but those were business arrangements. There was no trust whatsoever. Graznikh had gotten more than a whiff, and he simply did not care. His laid-back attitud made a lot of people underestimate him or take him for granted. But the last guy who had tried to use it as an insult had been left alive without a face once the berserker was done with him.

  
After the first few weeks with her new tutor in the art of war, Záhovar learned a new feeling: hate. The man was more interested in torture than in teaching and his punishments for her imagined failures became more and more excessive over time, as did his attempts to 'harden' her. When he realised that he could not mar her, that her wounds healed swiftly and without leaving any mark, he resorted to raping her instead.  
Záhovar was well aqcuainted with pain and both physical and spiritual intrusion. This man's petty acts could not move her, not even as he began calling in his pet uruks 'for a treat' after he was done. The uruks at least were straightforward. She soon found that her moans of pretended pleasure at the uruks' hands seemed to infuriate the man even more than her defiance and that was a victory, however small.  
Her tutor in the knowledge of the Tower and its workings was different. Gîrakûn was old and wizened but her eyes were dangerously bright. She was a sorceress who had dwelt in Blog Shakâmb as a scholar for many long years before the Dark Lord called her back into His service.  
”You have much to learn and so very little time,” she said the first time Záhovar entered her study. ”Our Master is not a patient man, and if you do not study well enough to please Him, both of us will suffer for it. You will read what I tell you to read, learn what I hand out. I encourage you to do to more; every step you take on your own is in itself a valuable lesson.” She took a large book from the desk. ”Can you read?”  
”I do not know,” Záhovar said.  
Gîrakûn gave her a mirthless smile. ”Try it. Read the title aloud to me.”  
As Záhovar opened the book, strange symbols danced upon the parchment. But after a while, they settled and formed words in her head. ”He Who Arises In Might; A treatise on the nature of Darkness.”  
The old woman seemed pleased. ”You will come to me every second night after the fifth toll, and you will describe what you have read with your own words, the meaning of it and your thoughts on the matter. I will ask you questions on the topic at hand and you will answer, again with your own words. I know these books at heart, so I will know if you try to simply repeat the words you have read. When we are done with this book, I will give you another. Our Master has also commanded me to teach you the basics of sorcery, so after each rehearsal I will give you exercises which are intended to strengthen your mind, body and spirit so that they will not deteriorate too quickly when you embrace the Darkness.”  
As Záhovar nodded, Gîrakûn held up a hand. ”And if you somehow manage to damage or, Utumno forbid it, destroy any of my books, I will have you piece it together and write a new copy. I do not think I will need to make any harsher threats than so.”  
”I will defend these books with my life,” Záhovar assured her and Gîrakûn gave her a genuine smile.  
”I am glad to have finally received a sensible student. Run along now, I shall expect your return two nights hence.”

  
The underground was a vast network of caves that ran deep underneath the fortress city of Lugburz, shaped by volcanic activity. Because of the access to fuelless heat and water, both the kitchens and the scrubhouse were located there. The scrubhouse, or steam bath as the tarks called it, was simply a place where steam rose through cracks in the rock which the Orcs used to keep themselves somewhat clean. The place brought bittersweet memories for Graznikh, but the lure of a relaxing steam bath and scrubbing (and possibly a backrub from Praktash, who turned out to be suprisingly good at it) was just irresistible. Soon he lay on a crude stone bench carved out of the cavern wall with a big grin on his face as the Uruk kneaded away tensions and knots.  
”Will you stop purrin' like that?” Praktash complained. ”It's distractin'.”  
”Were you a Dunlending whore in a past life? I seem to remember some of this.”  
Praktash leaned closer. ”What makes ya think I'm not one now?”  
”'Cause if you were, people would be running towards ya instead of away from ya.” That made Praktash laugh. When he was done scrubbing the dead skin and grime off, Graznikh returned the favor.  
”Hey, Prakûth!” Praktash lifted his head and grinned as a naked Orc woman sat down on the bench next to them. ”Found a boyfriend at last, have ya?” she remarked with a grin, nodding towards Graznikh.  
”Nar, just a buddy. Graznikh, meet Hîsht. She's part of the garrison in Udûn. Old friend o' mine. Hîsht, this here's Graznikh.”  
Graznikh nodded a greeting. The woman before him was not young, but not ancient either. Her flat breasts and belly bore the stretchmarks that were the telltale sign of a breeder, but she clearly was not one anymore. The large scar on her lower abdomen marked her as one of those rare women who had gone barren for some reason but was large and fit enough to be a warrior, so instead of having her killed and cooked the pitmaster had punctured her womb with a knife and sent her packing. The Tower had no use for the useless, but Hîsht had proven her worth twice over as both breeder and fighter.  
”Not just a 'part', I got promoted,” Hîsht said with a grin and giggled as Praktash groaned. ”Don't worry Prapsam, I'm not an Officer... yet.” An even louder groan made even Graznikh chuckle. ”Yeah, soon I'll be sippin' wine in fancy robes and you'll both be lickin' my feet clean. How 'bout that, ey Prashnak?”  
”Wonderful,” came the forlorn answer. Graznikh laughed as much at Praktash's fake dismay as at the nicknames. Praktash laughed as well, then looked up.  
”So why 're you here? I thought you were supposed to be in Udûn,” Praktash said.  
”Got transferred. The whole lurg. No idea why, as usual. Guess they gotta keep the wheel o' war spinnin', even if there's no war to be had right now.” Hîsht shrugged and looked at Graznikh. ”So, pretty one? How long you been in the Tower?”  
”No idea,” Graznikh said, flashing fangs at being called 'pretty'. ”Years. I've lost count.”  
”You in the army, or..?”  
”Nar, guard.”  
”And fixer-upper whenever someone's favourite boots gets a hole in 'em,” Praktash added with a grin.  
”Screw that, we could use those nice shoulders in the army,” Hîsht said with a grin.  
”Oh no, you don't!” Praktash shot up. ”You're not takin' my buddy! If he ever ends up there, he'd be a Low One in no time at all and all my wankin' material would be ruined forever!”  
Hîsht laughed out loud at that. ”Aw, don't worry Pushaktar, I won't steal your toy.” Someone called, and Hîsht replied with a curse. ”Gotta go, company's missin' me. Anyway, drink and chat tomorrow night? Whaddya say?”  
Praktash and Graznikh shared a look. ”Sure, we'll be there.”

Graznikh shook water out of his ears as they left the underground and walked out into the open air where they were violently welcomed by Zuzar, who had been out hunting and had tracked them down when they were not at the stash room. There was some kind of commotion on the training grounds as they passed. A large group had gathered, probably to watch some prisoner or other sorry bastard getting beaten to death under the pretense of a training session. Neither Praktash nor Graznikh cared much for that kind of entertainment, but something made Graznikh stop to listen. Perhaps it was the tiny whimper of pain, or the way the torturer spoke to the victim, but he began walking towards the crowd. Praktash caught up with him.  
”I thought you didn't like this kind of shit.”  
”It's not that,” Graznikh said with a frown. ”I gotta take a look.” He pushed his way to the front, growling and shoving smaller Orcs out of the way.  
  
The woman on the ground was thin and pale. She had long brown hair and wore a simple, dirty linen tunic and trousers. The scars on whatever skin that could be seen showed that she had been in the dungeons a very long time before being dragged out here to die. She had been whipped recently; there was a dark red spot on the back of her tunic. Graznikh didn't need to see her face to recognise her.  
The tark who was 'sparring' with her barked at her to pick up the sword, then slapped her with the flat side of his own as she tried to reach for it. The sound of bones cracking was heard amid the laughter and growling of the onlookers.  
”How useless can you possibly be? How am I to train you to fight if you cannot even lift the sword?”  
Graznikh noticed another tark standing nearby with a worried look on his face. He gulped down his disgust and went over to him.  
”What's going on here?” he quietly asked. The tark twitched at being spoken to, but he found his tongue admirably fast. ”He... the Dark Lord has commanded him to teach this young one the art of war and weaponry, but I doubt that this was how it was meant. We were clearly instructed not to maim or mar her, but-” he winced as the other tark kicked the woman. ”If this goes on, he will kill her and it's our heads on the line!”  
”Who is she?”  
”A High Officer-in-training, I believe. No one seems to know where she comes from or what her name is. This is a special case; normally we do not train Officers. They are simply appointed on the basis of earlier merits.” Then he seemed to realise it was an Orc he spoke to and fell silent. ”Ask my master if you wish to know more.”  
”Oh, I will.”  
  
”You are pathetic,” the man spat. Záhovar tried to stand, but everything spun and she felt nauseous. ”That I should be forced to babysit one of your wretched breed is nothing short of insult! I should inform our Master what a useless wretch you are. After I have killed you.”  
”Oh no you don't.” A pair of heavy Orc boots stopped in Záhovar's field of view. ”Although I suppose you could go and explain to the Eye how you're incapable of doing even such a simple task as teaching an already experienced warrior to fight.”  
The man stared, almost too infuriated for words. ”How _dare_ you?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”It's pretty easy, really. You're doing most of the job yourself.” The onlookers began to back away. He twirled a knife between his fingers and turned to the tark servant. ”You can go back and tell the Top Ones that this one's got a new teacher. One who'll actually teach her something instead of beating her senseless. And _you_ ,” he turned to the torturer, ”will now show me how good you really are with that sword.” He began advancing. The red haze grew, and this time he welcomed it.  
”You dare not raise a hand against a High Officer! I am far above you in rank!”  
”Didn't you read the contract before you signed, little tark? We've got no use for the useless. And pulling ranks you don't have isn't very smart. You don't wear the headband, that means you're only a Low One. And now you're prey.”  
  
Praktash crouched down beside the woman. Graznikh could have his fun, he was not going to interfere. He did not know why the Orc had gotten so riled up all of a sudden, but he suspected that the Officer was one of those who had hurt his mate long ago. He pulled the plug on his ghâshpau-flask and held it to the woman's mouth, making her swallow a little. She coughed and spat at first, but some went down. She met his gaze and there was no fear or hate in those catlike eyes, only resignation. Zuzar sniffed at her and met Praktash's eyes with a low growl.   
”Golug,” the warg said with a voice that only Graznikh and Praktash could understand. Praktash frowned. _Elf?_ He took a closer look at her ears and frowned at the deep cuts in them. _But they were pointed once. Didn't Graznikh say that elves have pointed ears?  
_ Záhovar felt the liquid's strange effect spread in her body. The pain dulled, but she was too weak to do much more than move her head slightly to watch the slaughter with hungry eyes.

 _Seven years,_ Graznikh thought as he chipped away at the tark's defenses. _You scum stole seven fucking years of my life. You took my Elf, you tortured her, you turned her into that_ thing _on the ground. You've chased me and tried to kill me all my bloody life and so help me Darkness, I'll_ hurt _you for it!_ The tark dropped his sword. Graznikh continued to hack off bits and pieces, whittling him down and savouring every curse and every scream. When he was done there was nothing left but a carved-out carcass. Some of the onlookers cheered. Zuzar wagged its tail, hoping for a treat.  
”Wuf?” Graznikh nodded to the warg as he turned away with the bloodlust pounding in his ears. ”Take whatever ya want. Enjoy!”

They carried the wounded woman to Praktash's crib without further incidents. Soon she was lying on Graznikh's mattress while he washed the blood and grime off her body and rubbed some of Praktash's greasy healing salve on the lash marks on her back, cursing under his breath. Praktash kept an eye on the entrance while working on some mixture.  
Graznikh stared at her naked upper back. Not only were there fresh lash marks but hundreds, even thousands of scars that covered every visible spot of skin except her hands, feet and face. They formed an intricate pattern that was disturbingly hypnotic to look at. _Elves aren't supposed to get scars._ He also noted that someone had made jagged cuts into her once leaf-shaped ears. On the left side of her ribcage was a large irregular dark spot. _She's broken a rib,_ Graznikh thought. _Maybe even more than one. If I ever get my hands on those bastards, I'll..._  
”You were there.”  
He started at the whisper. ”Eh?”  
”You were there,” she repeated. ”In the Darkness. I felt you.” She met his gaze. ”Why?”  
Graznikh stared back. ”I... got pulled in somehow.”  
”And you killed the man who would have killed me. Why?”  
”We had a... bond of sorts, back before.”  
”But there was only Darkness before.”  
”I...” He looked away. ”I might tell ya 'bout it another time.”

She gave him an impassive look, then she nodded. Graznikh was not sure what she nodded at. He watched her as they shared a moment of silence, feeling shocked and empty. _I felt you die. I felt the bond go dark and silent, and it still is. How can you still be alive?  
_ Praktash barely had time to shout a warning before the door broke and four armed Uruks marched in, followed by a true High Officer. Graznikh tried to fight but was quickly knocked unconscious. They did not smash the place, for which Praktash was immensely grateful, but Záhovar was pulled to her feet and dragged away.

  
When Graznikh came to, he found his hands and feet bound. Zuzar had balled up into a corner with its tail between its legs, letting out little frightened whimpers.  
”I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid,” Praktash said. ”I'll let you go if you won't.”  
”They took her! They fucking took her again,” Graznikh roared at him.  
”You can't lay claim like that! Whatever she was before, she belongs to the Eye now and He doesn't share!”  
”Fuck the-” Graznikh began, but Praktash slapped him.  
”Don't. Just don't,” he growled. ”Not here, not in the streets, not ever! If He hears, and you bet your sorry arse He will, you're dead! You and everyone you're seen with! The Eye sees all, you can't hide anythin' from Him. And you're already in His view because of what you did before, it's sheer bloody luck they didn't take you too!” They stared each other down, growling. Then Graznikh gave in and rolled his eyes.  
”Fine,” he said. ”Now can you get these off? I need a drink.”  
Praktash leered. ”I don't know... you look kinda good, all tied up like that.”  
”What? Shut up, I'm not in the mood for this now!”  
Praktash continued leering as he untied him, moving deliberately slowly. Graznikh sat up and rubbed his wrists to get the blood flowing. Praktash frowned. ”So that was the one you've been pinin' over all this time?”  
”Yeah.” Graznikh reached for his drinking skin.  
”Hnh.” Praktash studied the broken door.  
”It's not like I'm gonna see her again,” Graznikh muttered after a swig. ”They'll probably lock her up after this.”  
”I'm not so sure about that. No one gets out of the dungeons without the say-so of the Eye. If the Top Ones wanted her safe and out of reach, they'd never have let her out of there in the first place. I'd guess they want her out on the floor with the rest of us, only not dead.” Graznikh grunted. Praktash turned to look at him. ”What'd he say? The tark you spoke to?”  
”That she was an Officer-in-training. The guy I minced was ordered by the Eye to teach her how to fight, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. Bloody understatement of the age.”  
Praktash laughed. ”Then you probably did him a favor.”  
Graznikh snorted. ”When the Eye finds out, I'm done for.”  
”Probably already know. You saw how fast they came to pick her up, didn't ya? Besides, if you were done for they'd have dragged you along, not left you knocked out in my tender care.” He shot Graznikh a nasty grin.  
Graznikh lowered the skin. An idea came to him then. It was dangerous, ambitious and completely crazy, but he liked it.  
Praktash stopped smiling as he saw the insane gleam in Graznikh's eyes. ”What now?”  
Graznikh grinned. ”I'm gonna kill the next one too.”  
”You... What?”  
He nodded. ”And the next one. And the next. I'm gonna pick 'em off until one of two things happen; either they kill me, or no one wants the position as her tutor anymore because they know it's a death sentence.”  
Praktash stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed. ”You're declarin' war on the Eye.”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”Just her tutors. I want that position for myself.”  
”You think you can do it?” Praktash asked with a thoughtful look. Graznikh nodded as he returned to drinking. The Uruk grinned. ”You sick, fucking bastard. I love it!”

”So tell me more about these Top Ones. ”  
”Well, they're the highest in charge under the Eye,” Praktash began. ”I've never cared much for them, mostly tried to stay far away. The Low Ones, or Low Officers as the tarks say, they're in charge on a daily basis. They're Captains of the smaller fortresses, in charge of the guard posts and lesser fortresses. Anyone can be one, if you've got the guts for it. They take orders from the Top Ones, or High Officers, and those are handpicked by the Eye itself. I've never heard of any Orc, snaga or Uruk, ever becoming a Top One. Those I've seen were all tarks, or looked the part anyway. They're warriors, sorcerers, commanders of the major fortresses like Burz-Doraz or Blog Shakâmb. There's probably a lot more to them, but I've never bothered to find out. They're creepy.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”What are those? I've never heard of 'em.”  
”Burz-Doraz is a huge fortifed gate built in the north. Blog Shakâmb is a fortress to the east; they say the Eye lived there before Lugburz was built. The road from the gate here leads right to it.”  
Graznikh tried to inquire further, but Praktash refused. ”I don't wanna talk about that place. Gives me the shivers, it does.”

  
Half a year later, Záhovar knelt with her head against the floor of the audience hall. The hall was empty save for herself and the Dark Lord, whose eyes cut into her like knives.  
”Five tutors,” He said. ”Five _dead_ tutors.” She felt rather than saw Him beckon. ”Stand. See me.”  
As she obeyed, He brushed a finger against His lips as He often did when thinking. Then He held it up.  
”The first one; torn to pieces on the training grounds. This we know was done by a berserker, so I shall not hold it against you.” He lifted a second finger. ”The second; stabbed in the back in an alley near the market. The third,” He said as He held up a third finger,” poisoned. A simple, common toxin that he should have had the antidote for, if someone had not stolen it from his belt the very same night he died.” He looked at His hand. ”And that one antidote was the only thing that was missing. The fourth I know you killed yourself. But not alone.” She met His gaze, careful not to let herself tremble. ”The fifth was apparently devoured by a warg. And now I have been forced to have three others killed, because they disobeyed orders and tried to flee when notified of their new position. I must say, I am somewhat... nettled.” The Dark Lord smiled as He lowered His hand. ”I shall let you decide the Orc's fate.”  
Záhovar swallowed. ”What choices do I have?”  
”All. Do what you will. But know this; if you do not find yourself a new tutor, I will consider you failed.” He waved His hand in dismissal. Záhovar bowed deeply before leaving, desperately trying to calm the storm inside.  
Well away from the audience hall, she allowed herself to relax slightly. Many in the Tower believed the killer of her tutors to be either she herself or an enemy assassin in disguise. In truth, it was neither. She was not surprised that her Master knew the culprit, all-seeing as He was. The Orc puzzled her greatly. He made sure to let her know that it was he who killed her tutors, as if he was trying to challenge her and lure her out of the Tower. But he had never made any attempts on her life whenever they had met, instead chatting amiably and in general behaving in a decidedly un-Orcish manner. Hate, fear, repulsion – these were feelings she knew well, these she could use. But there was no trace of those in the Orc's eyes, only that strange familiarity. He had nothing that could be manipulated and it confused her greatly.

'Do what you will', the Dark Lord had said. Záhovar tried to detach herself from the situation and see the Orc with other eyes. He was cunning, this he had proved by staying undetected for so long. Strong as well, some of her tutors had been very skilled warriors but still they had fallen. Both were signs of the makings of a Low Officer. The third was ambition. She frowned. If he was ambitious, should he not have risen in the ranks of the Tower already? His outfit was that of a regular grunt and she somehow doubted that he would have been able to disguise himself well enough to go unrecognised for so long had he been of higher rank. He had stepped in as her first 'tutor' was about to kill her, asking nothing in return. Or had he? She remembered his words from before. Was it ambition that drove this Orc, or something else? And if not, what else was there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prakûth – ambush  
> Prapsam – behind  
> Prashnak – deliberate mispronounciation of 'plashnak' – cunt  
> Pushaktar - Sharpshooter
> 
> Blog Shakâmb – literally 'blood stone', orcish name for the fortress of Seregost. Seregost was the first dwelling of Sauron, before Barad-Dur was built. It is described in many places as a 'place of dark sorcery' and was the breeding ground for the Black Uruks of Mordor. It is the birthplace of Praktash.


	2. Mark My Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack: "Conquistador" by 30 Seconds To Mars.

A few weeks later, Graznikh was standing guard near the market, Zuzar snoring loudly at his feet, when a Low Officer marched up to him.  
”Your name and number?” the Officer demanded. _Great, one of the name-and-numbers guys._  
”Graznikh, D gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak,” he grunted. The man checked some kind of list, then nodded to himself.  
”Your replacement is arriving soon,” he said. ”You are to report to the vice castellan's office immediately.”  
Graznikh frowned as the man left. The vice castellan was a High Officer, and being sent to him usually meant either a promotion or an execution. But there was no refusing a High officer, so Graznikh left for the Tower as soon as his replacement came. He had to repeat his name and number to the guards at the main gate of the Tower and outside the vice castellan's office, then he waited. And waited. And waited. ' _Immediately' really is a fluid term around here,_ he thought as he squatted against the wall, carving dirt from his claws with a knife. Eventually he was called into the office. The vice castellan asked him some completely random questions, then nodded to the two Black Uruks standing by the wall.  
”Take him upstairs.”  
”What's going on?” Graznikh asked, but the Uruks only grinned. ”Do not question.”  
He began to grow worried as he noticed that they were heading to the audience hall. _Not good. Not good at all._ But the Uruks turned and went down a smaller corridor. After unlocking a door, they went up a long flight of stairs, through several more corridors and up another stair, this time turning round. Graznikh tried to keep track of the way but was soon completely lost. He had no idea how far up or down they were. Eventually they entered a wide corridor with a floor of polished black marble. The walls were decorated with tapestries and statues and had intricate inlays of multicoloured stones. _This must be the High Officers' quarters,_ Graznikh thought as he stared at the rich surroundings. _Reminds me a bit of Whin's home, only darker._ He spotted a trickle of black blood coming out from beneath one of the doors further down the corridor. _A lot darker._  
The Uruks stopped with evil grins at a large carved door. ”Final destination, snaga. Hope you enjoyed your life.” With that, they grabbed him and threw him in.  
  
Graznikh hit his head as the door slammed shut. After the footsteps faded, everything went eerily quiet. He lay on his back on the cold floor with closed eyes, not daring to open them as the whisper of cloth brushing stone was heard beside him. Eventually he dared to open one eye. Then he stared, wide-eyed, into catlike blue eyes.  
”I did not tell them to do that,” she whispered, frowning. A small grin forced itself onto his face.  
”You've got to be more specific,” he said softly. ”Uruks need to be kept on a tight leash, otherwise they'll take every chance they get to screw you over.”  
”And you will not?”  
”'Course not.” He couldn't tell if she was serious or toying with him. ”I'm yours.”  
She rose, and Graznikh took it as an invitation to stand as well. As she walked over to a desk, he took the opportunity to look around. The floor, walls and ceiling of the large room were black, but there were similar inlays in the walls as in the corridor outside. There were a few armchairs around a low table filled with books in one corner, a large bed with high bedposts and a cloth ceiling in another and of course the desk by which she stood. Three arched doorways led to other rooms, but he couldn't see the interior of those.  
Suddenly he recognised the robe she was wearing. It was almost identical to the one she had worn that very first time he had seen her and touched her, but instead of plum and dusty yellow it was black and the sash icy blue with silver threads woven into it. The Dark Lord's irony was not lost on him.  
”Well, somebody's got a sense of symbolism,” Graznikh muttered. ”Or humor.”  
”Hm?” she looked up.  
”Nothing, just a memory.” He sighed. ”So, about what those Uruks said... D'you intend to kill me?”  
”Do you want me to?” The sincerity of the question sent shivers down his back. _What is this?_  
”Well, if I have to go I'd rather it be by your hand than anyone else's. But no, I'd prefer to live.”  
”Then live you shall.” She turned towards him. ”I sent for you because of your previous actions and words. When you killed my first tutor, you expressed a wish to take his place. Is that still so?”  
A grin slowly spread on Graznikh's face as he nodded. ”Yeah, I can teach you. If you want me to, that is.”  
”What I 'want' is irrelevant.”  
”Not to me,” Graznikh said. ”I wanna teach ya because you want to learn from me, not because someone else forces you to.”  
”If you do not, someone else will.” There was a shiver of anxiety in her voice, a tiny display of weakness. Záhovar widened her eyes slightly as she realised her mistake, steeling herself for an attack that never came. Graznikh stepped up close to her and forced her chin up with his fingers, a little rougher than intended.  
”Then I'll teach ya,” he growled. ”I'll teach ya better than any of those bloody pansies in black and red could ever do. I'll teach ya how to use whatever weapons you want, how to move in armour and how to fight an' lead.” He wanted to tell her more, to lay down his life at her feet and be her personal slave to the end of his days, but he held back.  
”I accept your guidance,” she said. ”Do you have a signet?”  
Graznikh shook his head, not knowing what that was. She placed a stone pendant on a thin chain and hung it around his neck. It had an odd symbol inlaid in silver.  
”This is my signet. It will allow you to send for me at the main gate of the Tower at will. I will not promise to come every time, but you have my attention.” When he did not move, she met his eyes with a slight frown.

Now that he was finally close enough, Graznikh drank in her scent. It was still _her_ , that soft smell of fresh birch leaves and pine tar, even though it was now mixed up with the sharper scent of taint, pure evil and the sourness of the general decay of the Tower. He stared into her burning blue eyes as he reached through the bond and found only emptiness. _Why are you gone?!_ came the internal scream. _How can you be gone when you're right in front of me??_ Her eyes grew dangerous and he slowly backed away. She swept by and picked up a book from the table, then sat down in one of the armchairs and opened it, seemingly oblivious to his presence. After a while she looked up slightly. ”Dismissed.”  
The word cut through Graznikh like an icy blade. _So that was it, just like that._ Then he remembered something. ”I, er... I don't know the way down.” She paused her reading again with a small frown. Then she closed the book with a sigh.  
”Follow.” Donning a more formal robe over her ordinary one, she swept out of the room with Graznikh in tow. The door opened on its own as she approached and closed behind them, Graznikh thought he could see a faint glow as it apparently locked itself on its own as well. She seemed to know the way but Graznikh got lost again as they turned this way and that to get back down to the entrance level. Just inside the main gate, she stopped and turned towards him. ”Tomorrow.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Tomorrow?”  
She nodded. ”After the third toll. Meet me here, then we shall go to the training grounds.”  
He grinned. ”Yer wish is my law,” he said. He did not really know how to show respect to High Officers, but the tarks here bowed a lot so he did that. She nodded again, this time with eyes that were a little less cold than before. Then she left him and hurried back up. Graznikh looked after her for a while, then he looked at the signet again.

  
Praktash was stuffing jars of healing salve in a crate as Graznikh sauntered in with a smug look on his face and tossed something to him. Praktash looked at the signet. ”Where'd you get this?”  
”Guess.”  
Praktash stared at him. ”You didn't.”  
”Yeah, I did.” Graznikh couldn't keep the grin off his face anymore. Victory had never tasted so sweet! ”Come on, I wanna celebrate!”  
”Sure, just let me finish this or the quartermaster'll have my hide.”  
  
”This is _nice_ ,” Graznikh said as he sampled the wine. This particular alehouse was one of the fancier ones, occasionally frequented by Low Ones so it had a slightly better stock than the rest.  
Praktash chuckled. ”Was it worth spendin' all your savin's?”  
”Yeah. Besides, with the pay I'll be getting from now on I could drink this shit every day if I wanted to.”  
”They're payin' you that much for tutorin' a Top One?”  
”Apparently. It's a lot less than they gave the previous ones, what with me being a 'snaga' and all, but it's still a sweet deal.”  
”Will you be movin' out too?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”I don't know. Maybe if she wants me to, but I'd rather not. Gotta stay in touch with my roots, y'know?” He shot Praktash a nasty grin.  
”Hey! Don't get all Officery on me now, you know I can't stand those bastards!”  
”I was joking!” Graznikh laughed. ”Nah, I'll never be like that. And if I do, feel free to punch me.”  
”I might have to do somethin' else to put you in your place, snaga,” Praktash murmured with a sly grin and licked his lips.   
Graznikh grinned back. ”I'm not that drunk yet.”  
”You will be if you keep heavin' that stuff.” He shone up. ”Tell you what, you should get a tattoo!”  
”A what?”  
”Like these,” he said, pointing at the dark markings on his face. ”It's a more lastin' celebration than booze.”  
”Hnh,” Graznikh grunted. ”I've been meaning to get one o' those. Back when I was younger, I used to have trouble during ambushes and such. My skin's so pale, it's easy to spot at night. So I used grease and soot as warpaint to cover it up, but it didn't last all that long. Here,” he pulled a knife and carved a rough design into the table. ”Something like that, up along the nose and across my forehead. I always wanted it tattooed in, but Tarnakh wouldn't let me.”  
”Well, he's not here now. Let's take this plank down to the foundries, I know a guy there who's really good.”  
Graznikh laughed at that, but Praktash gave him a solid look. ”I'm serious.” Graznikh fell off his bench in surprise as Praktash put a knee on the table and pulled the plank out, nails and all. Then he punched it hard until it snapped in two with a loud crack.  
”Oi, what the _FUCK!?_ ” the serving snaga squealed. ”Those things don't fuckin' pop outta the ground, ya know?!”  
”Sure they do,” Graznikh said as he picked himself up from the floor. ”I'll pay for repairs later.”  
”They do?” Praktash asked as they left the alehouse.  
”Wood,” Graznikh said, knocking on the plank on Praktash's shoulder. ”Trees grow outta the ground. You flearidden son of a warg bitch.” He couldn't keep his face straight anymore and they both laughed until they could barely stand.

Graznikh's face felt like it was on fire as the sharp knife broke the skin, followed by the black paste that would colour the scars.  
”T'is easier on pale skin,” the fat Orc who handled the knife grunted. ”Don't need as much grease for th' markin's t' show.” Graznikh sat with closed eyes as the tattooer worked. It was good to feel real, physical pain for once, not the sick creepy sensation of Whin's torture. But soon they would be together again, and everything would go back to normal. Or at least as normal as things could be.  
So many times he had tried to reach out through the bond, only to find that there was nothing to reach out to. The bond told him she was dead, yet he had seen her, touched her, talked to her. She did not seem to remember him, yet she had sent for him herself once the list of teachers ran out. She knew he had killed the others, yet she had not sent him to his death. Was the being in the Tower still Whin, or a wraith wearing his âmbal's face?  
Graznikh swallowed. He could feel blood trickling down his face and focused on the pain. She wasn't a wraith, he decided. The emotions he had picked up on her scent told him otherwise, a wraith would not show emotions. _I don't care if you don't remember me. I'll make you remember. I'll get that bond back, I don't care if I have to suck the Eye's cock to do so._

”'Ere,” the tattooer said. ”Outline's done. Take a break, wait fer it t' stop bleedin'. I'll do th' rest after. An' don't touch it, th' colour ain't settled yet.”  
Praktash grinned. ”How're you holdin' up?”  
”Just fine. Don't need any,” he said as Praktash held out a ghâshpau skin. ”I wanna feel this.”  
”You like pain, huh?”  
”Yeah.” Graznikh leaned back with a sigh, blinking to get the blood out of his eyes. ”I miss her nails.”  
Praktash gave him a look. ”Nails?”  
”Mhm. I loved the way she dug her nails into my back every time I fucked her. Sweetest pain in the world.” He grinned at the memory.  
”So you prefer plashnak? Ever tried guys?”  
”Yeah. Or, I did before I met Whin. I was pretty open to suggestions before, but after... Not that I didn't try both guys and gals, it just wasn't the same with others.” He frowned. ”Come to think of it; I haven't fucked a single time since I got here.”  
Praktash stopped drinking and stared at him. ”You what?! Not even hands?”  
Graznikh shook his head and shuddered with revulsion. ”Not with the Eye as a bedmate in my head. I just couldn't do it.”  
”That can't be healthy... So what now, is it still there?”  
”I think it's gone. At least I don't feel it anymore. It's just... empty.”  
Praktash nodded with a thoughtful look. The tattooer returned and rubbed more coloured paste into Graznikh's forehead, then proceeded to fill out the tattoo by making a crisscross pattern inside the outline. The pain was intense and Graznikh had to bite into the leather on his vambrace to keep from screaming. Praktash held him down by grabbing his hair and holding an arm across his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, the tattooer finished by scraping excess paste off his bleeding face. ”Don't touch an' don't scratch,” he grunted. ”If it starts smellin' or swellin', go to Praktash, 'e knows what t' do.” Graznikh gave him a weak grin as he spat the vambrace out. Praktash bandaged his head and steadied him as he tried to rise.  
”You sure you don't want any of this?” he asked as he held up the ghâshpau. Graznikh took it with a defeated grumble and Praktash laughed. ”Don't worry pal, I won't tell.” Graznikh's jaws ached and he could feel his legs shaking as he stood. It had hurt a lot more than he thought it would and he felt more respect for Praktash now. The Uruk may be a lousy warrior, but judging by his many tattoos and piercings there was clearly nothing wrong with his ability to withstand pain. Graznikh told him as much with a lopsided grin as they returned to the stash room and Praktash laughed.  
”Who says I'm a lousy warrior?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”We've sparred hundreds of times, and you've never bested me!”  
Praktash gave him a dangerous grin. ”I'm not stupid enough to show off my skills in front of everyone like that. Let them wonder how the hell I survive down here without being able to fight, it keeps them on their toes enough to not even try to bully me. Besides,” he continued as his grin became more deranged, ”I have more than reputation to protect me. And, by extension, you.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Yeah, I've heard a bit. Got a few questions of that nature too.”  
”Oh? What did they ask?”  
”Mostly about how I pay for my stay here.”  
”I wouldn't mind it if you did, you know.” Praktash's grin widened.  
”I told you, I'm not that drunk.”  
”Do you have to be?”

Praktash pounced him, and Graznikh had no idea how an Uruk of that size could move so fast. He growled and fought back but soon found himself pressed face-first into his mattress. Zuzar was out hunting, so Graznikh could expect no help from the warg. Praktash straddled his legs and he couldn't help but groan with need as the Uruk fondled him and gently chewed on his ear.  
”So, if you had to choose: top or bottom?” Praktash whispered. Graznikh gave him defiant growl, but fell silent as he felt Praktash's hand inside his loincloth.  
”...Bottom.”  
”Seriously? I always took you for a top guy.” He nibbled Graznikh's ear some more before getting up. ”Be right back,” he purred. Graznikh removed his armour as he watched Praktash go over and fetch a small jar from the shelf.  
”What, you're not gonna spit?”  
Praktash scowled. ”That's just crude! Nah, I've got somethin' much better here.” He opened the jar and revealed a strange transparent goo that looked like snail slime.  
”I've seen you sell a lot of that stuff. What is it?”  
”This, my pretty pale fellow, is lube. And you'll find out soon why I sell so much of the stuff.” He grinned as he coated his hands with the glistening goo.  
Graznikh forced himself to relax and prepared for the inevitable discomfort, but it never came. Praktash's fingers slid in with ease and he tore a moan from Graznikh's lips as his fingers found a spot that sent sparks of pleasure through his body. Graznikh had been with guys before and it just wasn't his thing. Even so, he had to admit that Praktash was good. Pretty _damn_ good.  
”Yeah, I can tell you prefer ladies,” Praktash teased as he stroke Graznikh's dick with agonisingly slow strokes and fingered his arse, causing the Orc's eyes to flutter shut and his breath to come in short gasps. ”You really don't like this, do you?” As Graznikh began bucking against him, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock. Praktash used plenty of lube, but Graznikh tensed against the large intrusion.  
”Careful, will ya?”  
”No rush,” Praktash murmured. The last guy Graznikh had tried this with had slammed it in so hard that he had felt something tear inside. The pain had lasted for weeks. But Praktash was careful, easing it in as he felt Graznikh relax and taking the time for him to get used to the whole thing. Then he began thrusting slow and deep, slowly increasing the pace until Graznikh growled in pleasure and bit the mattress.  
”Changed your mind yet?” Praktash gasped.  
”Fuck no!”  
The Uruk growled with need and Graznikh put a leg against the wall, bracing himself against the hard thrusts. His face burned with pain as he grimaced, which only added to the pleasure. It didn't take long for him to come so hard his toes curled. Praktash slowed down until Graznikh was done, then increased the pace and came shortly after with a deep roar.

They lay still for a moment, enjoying the afterglow of a decent fuck.  
”So what made ya get to this now? I've been at your mercy for years, and you never seemed to care.”  
”In case you haven't noticed, I don't have that many pals. None I can trust not to screw things up, except you. I've no intention of losin' that. If I had fucked you before, when you had nowhere else to go, the question would always hang in the air – did I just take advantage of the fact that you depend on me for a place to sleep? I didn't want all that hassle, it ruined a lot of things for me in the past that could've been good. Things are different now. You're the personal snaga of a Top One, so technically you're higher in rank than me. If you wanna punish me for this, you can. Skai, you could punish me for anythin' now, real or not.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”More like the personal snaga of someone who has no rank at all. 'Officer-in-training' is no real title, it's just there to sound fancy.” The chuckle died as he realised the meaning of what he had just said. ”Shit.”  
Praktash pulled him close. ”Hey, don't give up now. She's not an Officer, that means you're safe for now.” He grinned. ”By the way, I met Hîsht earlier. She told me to send her regards to your pretty face.”  
Graznikh groaned. ”What is it with women and my face?! Hopefully I've ruined it enough now so they'll stop fawning over me like a bloody flower.”  
Praktash laughed out loud. ”Ya don't need to worry about Hîsht, she's just messin' with ya.”  
”That so?”  
”Yeah, she prefers plashnak.” He chuckled as Graznikh let out a sigh of relief.  
”So how did you and her meet?”  
”Long story,” Praktash said. ”I had just arrived here, she helped me set things up.”  
”You're not born here?”  
Praktash shook his head and his smile disappeared. ”Blog Shakâmb.”  
”Oh.” Graznikh remembered Praktash's reaction the last time he had mentioned the place. ”Not good?”  
Praktash shook his head with a grim expression. ”Not good at all.” He rolled over on his back and placed an arm beneath his head. ”I was little more than a cub, already dabblin' in booze and whatnot. There was this tark sorceress, her name was Gîrakûn, they said she was a great herbalist an' that I should go to her and ask to learn from her, so I did. Only...” He frowned.  
”No tutoring?”  
”Not a damn thing. She strung me up, used me for experiments and sport. I don't know how many years I spent in a dungeon there, but once I got out, everythin' had changed.” He glanced briefly at Graznikh and whispered: ”If anyone here knows what you've gone through, it'd be me.”  
Then he continued, louder. ”One day, she just kicked me out, head in shambles, I didn't know a thing. So I ran, all the way here. Ended up in the gutter where Hîsht found me. She was just out of the breedin' pits herself, but she saved my stupid arse pretty much the same way I did yours.” He grinned. ”She's the toughest bastard I know. Sixty years in the breedin' pits, shittin' out litter after litter, then kicked out with her guts still torn open and just takes it in stride, fightin' her way back up again.”

They continued talking well into morning. Despite the good events of late, the nightmares returned as soon as Graznikh fell asleep.  
_He stood in the corridor outside Whin's cell, hammering his fists against the solid darkness that blocked his way to her until they bled. Hot tears streamed down his face as he felt the Dark Lord approach from behind, digging His tendrils into his flesh and mind and slowly dragging him away. The screams emanating from inside the darkness literally broke his heart and he began coughing blood. As the bond died, he woke up with a howl._  
Praktash was there as always, holding a mug filled with spiked ghâshpau. Graznikh downed it, then fell back down onto his belly, digging his nails into the sweatsoaked mattress.   
”Why won't it go away?” he groaned as the grief and pain of loss threatened to overwhelm him. ”It just keeps coming like it all happened yesterday!” He couldn't stop himself from reaching out into nothing and howling into the mattress.  
”Do you have to keep chasin' her?” Praktash asked. ”Maybe you should lay off it for a while, just relax and enjoy life a little.”  
”I can't!” Graznikh sobbed. There were no tears outside the dream as Orcs could not cry. He did not know why he always cried in the dream. ”I cant forget, can't let go, it's been too long. I've got nothing else to live for.” His anguished look almost made Praktash shiver. ”There's like a hole inside, like a little piece of the Void that keeps eating everything up. I can't go on living like this, if I don't go after her with all I've got there's nothing left.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ”I tried to leave, y'know. After that first time I went crazy and killed all those people. I hoped they'd kill me, but you brought me back. I hated you then, for not letting me die. I keep chasing something that's gone, but I just can't stop running.”  
  
Zuzar sneaked in and lay down beside its master. The pressure of the warg's large head on his legs calmed him somewhat. Praktash frowned, studying his friend with a thoughtful look. ”Maybe it isn't gone.”  
Graznikh glared at him with one anguished eye. ”Of course it's gone, why else would I be so fucking miserable!?”  
”No no, hear me out,” Praktash said and sat down. ”I'm definitely no expert on magic and I know nothin' 'bout all this elvish mumbo-jumbo, but... You said she doesn't remember you, right?”  
”Mhm,” came the reluctant reply.  
”Right.” Praktash frowned even deeper. ”And when you went up there, you said the Eye looked at your memories, right? Like flippin' the pages in a book.”  
Graznikh made a gagging noise at the memory. ”Yeah. He could've taken anything out, and I wouldn't even know it was gone...”  
”Maybe... just maybe, I'm not sayin' it's true, but maybe it keeps hurtin' because it's _not_ gone? What if it's still there, but she's just forgotten about it? The Eye could've wiped her mind, it'd be an easy thing to do for someone like that.”  
Graznikh frowned and winced at the pain. ”But... I felt her die.”  
”Maybe she did,” Praktash said. ”And maybe the Eye brought her back. I wouldn't put it past Him. Or maybe she just believed that she died, enough for you to feel it?”  
The Orc suddenly looked absent. Zuzar began snoring and Praktash waited patiently. Graznikh's sudden outburst of laughter startled the Uruk and made Zuzar leap to its feet with a yelp.  
”I'm such an idiot!” He looked up at Praktash. ”She said it herself! 'The bond is real, it is everlasting and it cannot be broken, even beyond death.' Those were her words, back when we first joined. I felt her die, and when she came back she'd forgotten all about me and the bond. She's not gone, just... not there. Somewhere else, too far away in her mind for me to reach her!”  
Praktash gave him an unsure smile and Graznikh grinned. ”You probably think I've lost it for real now, right?”  
”You were lost already when I first met ya,” Praktash chuckled. ”But I'm glad my ramblin's helped.”  
Graznikh rolled over and stared up into the roof. ”And... I've felt like this before, too. Only, not nearly as strong. When I left her the first time, I ran like a coward because I thought she'd put a spell on me. But the farther I ran, the worse I felt. Just like this. One night, I just couldn't take the emptiness anymore, so I ran all the way back and didn't stop before I'd buried my dick in her.” He glanced at Zuzar, who was looking at him with its tail between its legs. ”I'm sowwy buddy, did I scare ya with all my antics? C'mere, let's go to bed!” He moved and let the big warg roll up around him.  
Praktash lay down on his own mattress. ”Sweet dreams, trênotar.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Sleep tight, bagshatîgatar.”  
Praktash spun and bared his fangs in a challenge at the insult. ”If you weren't all the way over there, I'd give ya a what-for for that!”  
Graznikh answered with a threatening growl. ”You just try.” Praktash pounced and soon they were wrestling wildly on the floor, laughing and cursing. When they were both too exhausted to go on, they simply rolled over to Graznikh's mattress, which happened to be closest.  
”Wuf,” Zuzar commented and wrapped itself around them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak – 36-45  
> Trênotar – madman  
> Bagshatîgatar – a very insulting term for a homosexual man who prefers to be on top


	3. Let There Be Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: "Fallen Star" by Kamelot.

Záhovar could feel a tremor run through her body as her will wavered. The Officer-in-training sat naked with crossed legs on the floor in the circular chamber. Her tutor had smeared her body with the thick black oil used in the braziers of the Tower, then proceeded to give her a few quick lashes with a burning lash until the oil lit up. It was indeed a trial by fire, to keep the flames burning until commanded otherwise even as they licked her face and danced on her skin. The Dark Lord sat near the wall, watching her with an impassive face.  
”Contain it!” Gîrakûn snapped. Záhovar felt the pain spread across her back and arms and realised that she was failing. The light seemed to dim as she drew upon the icy chill of the Wraith world, cloaking herself from the flames. It was only a hair's breadth, but it was enough. The pain dissipated and there was a flicker of interest in the Dark Lord's eyes.

Gîrakûn waited a little while before tugging the rope that emptied the bucket of water hanging over her student's head, extinguishing the flames. The Dark Lord rose and allowed Záhovar to do the same. He walked around her, searching her for burn marks. When none were found He lifted her chin with a finger. ”Passed.”  
Gîrakûn and Záhovar let out a sigh of relief as He left the room. The old woman smiled as she returned Záhovar's robes. ”Go clean yourself up. We are done for the night.”

  
As the third toll rang, Graznikh stopped by the Tower gate. _Those are real nifty,_ he thought as the tremor ran up through the ground. Ten tolls, evenly spread out, was the only way to keep track of time in the everdark of Lugburz. Graznikh had no idea what caused the sound and the following tremor, but it seemed to come from deep underground. It had been annoying at first, but he had grown accustomed to it. Everyone in Lugburz lived and died by it.  
Záhovar approached him and Graznikh felt another kind of tremor at the sight. Whoever picked her clothing had chosen far better ones than last time. He bowed before her with a cocksure grin and walked beside her down the long flight of stairs that led to the training grounds.  
”By the way,” he said as they walked, ”I never caught yer name.”  
”There is none.”  
He frowned. ”You don't have a name?”  
”I have one, but I am not allowed to use it yet. I have not earned it.”  
”...Right.” They walked in silence for a while.  
”So... Can I give you a nickname?”  
She looked at him. ”What is that?”  
He shrugged. ”It's... well, it's a name of sorts, but not a real one. Just something you call someone before they've got a real one. Something short and easy to pronounce. Some people use it in tiight spots too, like during battle when shouting the whole title would take too long.”  
”Do you have one?”  
”Yeah. My real name's Graznikh, but my buddies call me Graz.”  
”Graznikh...” She seemed to taste it in her mouth. ”Did you earn it?”  
He grinned. ”Sure, and then some. That was a long time ago.”  
”And... what would you call me?”  
” Âmbal,” he said without thinking. Then he stopped and clamped his hands over his big stupid mouth as she turned towards him with an almost shocked expression. _Skai!_ They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Graznikh had no idea what went on behind that cold stare. Then her expression changed ever so slightly, and there was a twitch in the corners of her mouth. ”Very well. So be it.” She turned and began walking. Graznikh hadn't even noticed that he had been holding his breath, but now he let it out with a gasp of relief. _Did she just agree to that?_

 _'Âmbal'? He would call me sweet?_ Záhovar began to understand the orc's game now. He was clearly torn between his fear and his wish to humiliate her and had in his carelessness given her threads to work with. Given enough, she would weave a web from which this orc could not escape, and so make a loyal servant out of him. This battle could turn out to be easier than the previous ones, and the orc had himself made it easy.  
It was early in the evening so the training grounds were nearly empty. She frowned as he handed her a blunted practice sword.  
”What, not good enough for ya?” Graznikh said with a grin as he noticed her reluctant expression. ”I'm not gonna hand you sharp toys and risk you hurting either yourself or me with 'em, not before I'm sure you can handle 'em. We'll start with blunted weapons, go through the basics 'til you know them. Then we'll move on to the real deal, if I think you're ready.”  
”Fair enough.”  
”Fair?” He chuckled. ”Fighting's got nothing to do with 'fair'. Fair fighters die. You wanna get the better of your opponent, how you get there doesn't matter.” He held the sword out. ”Let's start with defense. There're five basic blocking positions; upper left, upper right, lower left, upper left, lower right and above.” He showed her the different positions as he spoke. ”These apply to all blades. If you have a shield you use that, but shields are clumsy and they can break.” He made her go through the different positions, then brought his sword down against her from different directions, slow at first and then increasing speed until she began to make mistakes.

Graznikh knew he had to push her limits. No doubt the Top Ones were already impatient with the loss of time because of the previous casualties and his days in this position and state of existence were numbered according to whatever progress she made. After a few lessons, the speed with which she learned began to freak him out. It was not natural. She even did things he had taught her years ago, back when they were sparring in the forest during those few blessed moons they got together before everything came crashing down. _Is she remembering?_ Graznikh soon had to pick his old skills up. No more could he relax into the somewhat sloppy fighting style he had used to get by in the Tower, not when faced with a warrior with elven speed and reflexes. They went through the arsenal of the Tower – swords, knives, clubs, axes, polearms, archery, even bare hands which made Graznikh wish that they had been in a more secluded place. But their lessons had gained quite an audience over time with a bunch of off-duty snagas, uruks and even a few of the Low Ones watching with astonished looks and betting on who would come out on top the next time.  
Even Praktash came by a few times to watch from a distance, but he always made sure to leave with the crowd. The uruk disliked authorities of all kinds, and Graznikh couldn't even get him to come up and say 'hi'. The lessons only happened once every four nights and he had been relieved of guard duty because of his new position, so Graznikh had a lot of time for his crafts and hanging out with Praktash. And Zuzar of course, the warg made sure to let him know whenever it felt neglected.

  
Learning to ride Zuzar had been an exhilarating experience. A warg could not be ordered about like dogs or ponies could be. Wargriding was about cooperation; if warg and rider had a serious disagreement, things could get very ugly. But Zuzar trusted his master completely, so their disagreements were rare and quickly solved.  
Staying on was another matter entirely, Graznikh didn't even have asaddle or a collar to hold onto. Warg paws were almost like hands, they could grip and hang onto irregularities in the ground, which made wargs very good at climbing and running in the mountains. Zuzar leapt with ease over chasms and cracks that Graznikh would never have been able to traverse on foot and laughed as his master gave off terrified squeaks.

One night, they were hunting deep in the mountain spur where the Tower was located. The lizards here were larger and more aggressive than out on the Gorgoroth plateau and spat a nasty, corrosive acid as a defense. That didn't protect them against thrown knives, so Graznikh and Zuzar got some good battle practice while filling their bellies with the juicy meat. Graznikh stood nearby, knives at the ready as Zuzar pulled rocks and rubble away to reach a lizard that had hid in a crevice when the warg's ears suddenly pricked. Graznikh had learned to trust his friend's instincts and quickly mounted to face the unknown foe.

Zuzar growled as an unfamiliar warg and rider appeared on a cliff, closely followed by several others. Graznikh could feel the fur on its shoulders bristle and scratched it in an attempt to calm. Attacking would be suicidal, three of the riders had bows and he was outnumbered. The leader of the wargriders eyed him. ”Been lookin' fer you,” he growled.  
”Ya could've found me in the Tower anytime,” Graznikh replied and the other grinned.  
”Yeah, ye're gettin' a bit o' a rep there, aren't ya? Bullyin' yer way right up the Tower to the Top Ones an' all.”  
As they spoke, the wargs kept circling each other. Zuzar shook from the tension, ready to pounce at the slightest provokation.

”We've been watchin' ya fer some time,” the leader continued. ”I'm Brodhurz, and this is my pack.” He nodded towards the group. ”We're not here to fight ya, but I wanna know what ye're made of. Ye and yer warg.” Graznikh had heard that name a few times before. Brodhurz wasn't from the Tower but from Nargroth, one of the largest orc encampments in southern Gorgoroth, near the Gap of Nurza-Shûk. If he had come all the way here just to corner him in some obscure pass in the Tower Spur, he must've gotten quite a bit of a reputation indeed.

Zuzar sprung into action with a roar at almost the same time as the other warg. Brodhurz dismounted as the wargs clashed, Graznikh followed suit and rolled to his feet, blades in hand and jumped to avoid the incoming sword as soon as he got to his feet. For a moment he thought he would get torn to shreds, but the rest of the group kept their distance. The wargs howled and cheered their packleader on.  
_For someone not here to pick a fight, this looks suspiciously much like one,_ Graznikh thought dizzily after taking a hard punch to his chin. Brodhurz tackled him and tried to grab his neck, but Graznikh twisted out of his grip and sent him flying with a kick. They engaged again, slashing, punching and kicking. Graznikh was soon put on the defense. _This isn't good._  
They were interrupted by a loud yelp and turned towards the fighting wargs. Zuzar had the other warg in his jaws, securely caught by the neck. Graznikh spun to face Brodhurz, who sheathed his blade with a grin. ”No need. Ye're good, and ye're in if ya wanna join us.”  
Graznikh sheathed his knives. ”Interesting offer, but I can't really leave the Tower. Still got that teaching job to do. No good comes from pissin' off the Top Ones.”  
”No problem there. We're stationed in th' Tower fer now. Lemme know if ya wanna train with us.”  
Zuzar let go of the other warg as it spotted the lizard that had scurried out of its hiding place, thinking itself forgotten. It pounced it in front of the astonished group, tore the lizard's belly open and lay down to eat.  
Brodhurz laughed out loud. ”Been wonderin' how 'e got so big! That one could teach these pups a thing or two 'bout survival.”

  
”Are you bloody fucking kidding me?!” Praktash could hardly believe his ears. ”You turned Brodhurz down? You idiot snaga!”  
”Hey, none of that!” Graznikh growled. ”You know why I can't join his pack, the moment I have a nightmare there I'm done for.”  
Praktash winced. ”Yeah, but... still. I'm fucking envious! That pack is legendary. They took down a rampaging Olog-hai in the Eastern Desolation on their own not four years ago!”  
Graznikh grinned. ”You could always borrow Zuzar and join them yourself if you're so eager.”  
”Not a chance. I'd break that poor pup's back if I tried riding him. And I'm nowhere near as good a fighter as you, not anymore.”  
”You could spar with us, y'know. That'd put you in good shape.”  
Praktash's smile disappeared. ”No.”  
”I don't get what you're so afraid of. She's a little weird, but she's alright!”  
” No. We've been through this already. You haven't seen the things I've seen them do. I don't want anything to do with any Officers, High or Low.”  
”...Fine. Will ya come and watch at least?”  
”Alright. Once I'm done with the next batch.”

As Graznikh went to meet his âmbal for the lesson, she was not alone. A tiny, white-haired tark stood next to her, apparently discussing something of great import. He waited patiently as they finished and turned to look at him.  
”So, this is the one?” the tark woman asked.  
”Nashrakû.” Graznikh bowed and she made a surprised cackle.  
”An orc with manners? What is the world coming to?” Suddenly her eyes twinkled with intelligence and cunning. ”I have heard what you did with the other tutors. Will you kill me now as well, now that I stand before you?”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”No point in that, I already have what I want.” He glanced at his âmbal.  
”Do you, now?” The little woman studied him. ”Very well. I shall not delay you, but I will accompany you.”  
”Gîrakûn wishes to watch the lesson,” his âmbal said.  
”I'm not gonna stop her,” Graznikh said. _That name..._ ”I doubt I could even if I tried.”  
”And what makes you think that?” Gîrakûn asked as they headed to the training grounds.  
”Nobody grows old in the Tower unless they know how to defend themselves. You don't look like a warrior, if you don't mind me sayin' so, that means sorcery. And I can't well fight something I can't see. And I don't pick fights I know I'm gonna lose.”  
Gîrakûn gave him an evaluating look. ”A _clever_ one, at that,” she said as if to herself. ”A rare catch indeed.” _Catch?_

The lesson began as it usually did. Graznikh decided what weapons should be used, and today he chose the weapon she was most proficient in – the glaive. They had moved on to sharp weapons long ago, and he decided to use his own knives this time. Gîrakûn sat on a chair in an alcove, a small table at her side where Graznikh had placed refreshments, and watched them spar with interest.  
_So you wanna play it tough, huh?_ Graznikh thought as he blocked an incoming blow and leapt to the side. She gave him no respite, attacking over and over as soon as she found a breach. He was forced to put her on the defense. _Probably showing off for the nashrakû._ She spun the glaive, blocking two of his attacks at once. She raised her hand, and he prepared to-

Graznikh had no idea what just happened. There was a soundless blast, then pure dread seeped into his bones until he could no longer control his limbs. Everything went silent as he fell backwards with a howl and stared at the wraith that assaulted him. Then it passed, as quickly as it had come. Sound returned, and he could hear the terrified shrieks of the audience as they scrambled towards every available exit. He slowly lifted his eyes from the glaive that was buried in the ground right next to his head to his âmbal who knelt against his chest, watching him with the same impassive face she always wore.

Praktash had managed to dive for cover behind a pillar just before the High Officer-in-training unleashed the spell, and so he heard Graznikh's scream with his own ears.  _I told you,_ he thought with a pained wince.  _I told you over and over, 'don't go near the Top Ones! It'll end badly!' But would you listen? No, you just had to go and poke the Eye over and over and look where it got you! I'm sorry, little buddy, I can't drag you out of this one._

Záhovar was still kneeling beside the orc's body and heard Gîrakûn approach from behind. _This is... No. I will not do this._ She reached out and broke the spell that would have severed the orc's spirit from his body. He let out a shrill scream with his first breath, and Záhovar could feel the anger radiating from Gîrakûn. She caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye and caught the sorceress' staff just before it connected with her head.  
”Why did you break the spell?”  
”Because it was unnecessary.”  
”I gave you an order, which you deliberately failed to follow. Why turn against me now?”  
”I did as you commanded. I succeeded in casting and releasing the spell. I simply did not kill him.”  
Gîrakûn wrenched her staff out of Záhovar's grip. ”You know full well the crimes this orc has committed. He has murdered three High Officers, one of which was my son, and now you would let him go?”  
”No. But I will not mete out your vengeance for you. Our master gave me free reins in dealing with him however I see fit, and I will. It is not for you to decide.”  
Gîrakûn began gathering strength. ”Then I will finish his wretched life myself.”  
The glaive hissed through the air and stopped as it touched the old woman's throat. ”Then I will kill you. The orc is mine.”  
Gîrakûn took a few steps back, her anger replaced by astonishment. Such assertiveness and defiance she had not seen in the aspiring Officer before. ”You are ready,” she whispered.

  
Their argument had been carried out in the language of Rhûn, so Graznikh did not understand. Nor did he want to. Once the women were ignorant of his presence, he got to his feet and ran towards the exit as he had never run before. Outside, he was joined by Praktash and they both fled back to the stash room.  
”You still think that's your mate? You still think there's anything left of her inside that thing?” Praktash asked as they collapsed on their mattresses, each with a skin of strong orc booze in their shaking hands.  
”No, Graznikh whispered with dismay. ”My âmbal-zemar would never have attacked me like that, no matter how angry she was with me.” He grimaced after taking a swig from the skin. ”I'm gonna have nightmares this time, for sure.”  
”Me too,” Praktash said. ”I thought you were dead.”  
”I think I was. At least for a second or so. Maybe I should sign up with Brodhurz after all. Then I could get away from here. You wanna join? We could use a potionmaker.”  
Praktash shook his head. ”They won't accept you now, not when they hear the Top Ones want you. They'll just parade you up there and dump you in front of the throne.”  
”Oh... Great.” They proceeded to drink in silence until they dozed off.

  
Graznikh woke up as the door was bashed in and the castellan entered followed by four uruks. He tried to shake the headache off, then nodded to Praktash with a forced smile as they pulled him up from the mattress. ”Take care, buddy. It was nice knowing you.”  
”Same,” Praktash said. He didn't even shield the pain in his eyes. ”Try... Try to go out with a grin, eh?” He tried to slap Graznikh's outstretched hand, but only hit the fingers as they dragged the orc away.  
Outside, the uruks placed shackles around Graznikh's hands and feet and a collar with the Eye symbol around his neck. He tried to walk fast enough to keep up but was half-dragged all the way up to the Tower gate. He didn't know where Zuzar was – probably hunting with his new packmates. He hoped Praktash or Brodhurz would take care of the warg for him.  
Inside the gate they stopped. The castellan held out a hand and Graznikh felt the hair on his neck stand up as the air crackled from dark sorcery. The huge gates swung shut with a boom, the first time ever in Graznikh's memory to do so. _This is it. I'm well and truly fucked now._  
The uruks continued to drag him up to the waiting room outside the Dark Lord's audience hall where the woman he had loved, followed, protected and tutored for years untold waited. The uruks removed his shackles. The castellan nodded to her and left, taking the uruks with him and leaving Graznikh and her alone.  
_You just stand there,_ he thought bitterly. _In those fancy robes, with that blank stare. Is there anything left inside you? I guess I should be afraid, huh? It's too late for that. I might as well just speak my mind._  
”So what'll it be this time?”  
She met his eyes. ”This time?”  
”Yeah, what'll it be? Torture practice? Brainwashing? You've got me by the balls now, are you happy?”  
”I do not know that word.”  
He bared his fangs with a hostile growl. ”Of course you don't. That's why you take it from everyone else,” he snarled.  
The smallest crease appeared between her eyebrows. ”Have I offended you?”  
” Have you offended me..?” he hissed. ”HAVE YOU OFFENDED ME???” he roared at the top of his lungs. ”I LOVED YOU!! I cared for you, I protected you, I saved your sorry ass over and over as you saved mine! We fought, we hunted, we went through ice and fire together!” He took a deep breath. ”You wanna know what you are? You are dead!! I tried to save you, but I failed! We were bound together, I spent seven years in the same fucking darkness as you, felt the same pain, the same nightmares and I _felt you die_.” He felt the pain well up inside. ”And then you came back as this half-wraith monster, just as I was beginning to live you had to pull me back down and take everything from me all over again!”  
She stared, eyes wide, as he fell to his knees in front of her. ”All I wanted was to be with you,” he sobbed. ”But every time I sleep, I lose you again and again. Then I find this, this _thing_ wearing your face and I thought... But there's nothing left, nothing... I failed...”  His forehead pressed against her soft leather boot, a shaking hand clutched the hem of her robe.

Záhovar knelt beside the crying orc, gently lifting his head. ”You have not failed,” she whispered. ”On the contrary. And I have not brought you here to punish you.” He simply stared at her. ”In truth, both of us have been brought here unexpectedly. But I do not think either of our lives are on the line this night.” As she said this, the doors to the audience hall began to open slowly. "There is no time." She rose and encouraged Graznikh to do so as well. He wiped his eyes with his hands and tried to focus.  
”Keep your eyes on the ground,” Záhovar advised. ”Do not meet His eyes unless He bids you to, and do not speak unless directly spoken to. The slightest defiance will be rewarded with pain.”  
She straightened up and Graznikh could see apprehension in her face. She adjusted the robe slightly. He directed his eyes to the floor as they entered the hall. From what little he could see, the hall was crowded and the air almost tingled with anticipation. _If I'm not going to die, what the fuck is going on?_

There was a murmur as they entered, but it quickly fell silent. He fell to his knees before the throne as she did and pressed his head against the crimson carpet. He spotted Gîrakûn in the same position on her other side.  
_RISE,_ the dark Lord's voice boomed in his head, as it no doubt did in everyone else's.  
_WHY HAVE YOU COME BEFORE ME IN THIS HOUR?_  
Gîrakûn struck the floor with her staff thrice. ”Master, Thy command has been fulfilled,” she said solemnly. ”This one before Thee has been tutored, and judged ready to face Thee and serve Thee in his own might.”  
_IS HE LEARNED IN THE HISTORY AND WORKINGS OF THE BLACK TOWER?_  
”He is!”  
_AND CAN HE STAND HIS GROUND AS IT QUAKES WITH THE ARMIES OF HIS ENEMIES?_  
”He can!”  
_AND HAS HE THE POWER TO DEFEAT AND SUBDUE THEM?_  
Everyone's eyes was suddenly on Graznikh. He swallowed hard, then he lifted his eyes and met those of the Dark Lord. He flashed a grin and growled: ”He has.” The Dark Lord returned his grin as He rose from the throne. Then He pointed at Graznikh's former mate with a finger decorated by a golden ring glowing with arcane letters.  
_I NAME THEE ZÁHOVAR, HIGH OFFICER OF MORDOR. I AM THE MASTER OF ARDA, AND MY WORD BE LAW!_

Záhovar took a step forward and tore her robe off, revealing a magnificent armour underneath. Graznikh recognised it as almost identical to the one Whindaër had worn, but this one was black with reinforcements in a silvery metal. _That voice must've echoed across half of Gorgoroth,_ Graznikh thought. _I wouldn't be surprised if everyone under the Shadow heard them in their heads. And what do they mean by 'he'?_ The crowd left, some shouted dark blessings upon their newest colleague and rival. Soon, the power balance in the upper Tower would shift in a blood-drenched attempt to fit the newcomer in but for now, everyone was equal under the Eye. Záhovar and Gîrakûn did not leave with the others and not knowing what else to do, Graznikh stayed as well. The Dark Lord left His throne once the doors were closed. Graznikh quickly looked down as He approached, but he could see the strange glowing ring as He lifted His hand to touch Zàhovar. _Záhovar._ He tasted the name in his mouth. It was a pretty name and it fitted her real well. He regretted not having thought of it before. _You bloody idiot, you just told her off loud enough for half the Tower to hear and started bawling like a tark baby. You're a lousy useless weakling, why would she ever even look at your miserable face again?_  
”See me.” He twitched hard as he hadn't even heard the Dark Lord approach. His head snapped up and he met His gaze. It felt strange, looking into those fiery eyes in that calm face. It was as if His burning spirit was too large for the body it inhabited.  
”You have given Me a valuable gift,” He said. ”And so I give you my full attention this once. Ask whatever you will.”  
Graznikh swallowed. ”I don't have any questions,” he said quietly. ”But... I have a wish.” The Dark Lord waited, cloaked in angelic patience. ”I want the bond back,” Graznikh whispered and waited for his inevitable destruction.

The Dark Lord studied the orc. The doors to the audience chamber were impenetrable by sound, sight and physical means, but He had heard the orc's explosion and subsequent mental breakdown with other ears. He glanced at Záhovar who in turn shared a confused glance with Gîrakûn. He admitted to curiosity about the bond. Opening it was risky, but He believed her to be firmly under His control now. Firmly enough for Him to repair any damage the opening might cause. Graznikh expected to find himself melting, evaporating or spontaneously combusting at any moment. But neither happened.  
”It shall be done.”  
  
His mind went blank. That couldn't be right. This wasn't happening. The Dark Lord beckoned for Záhovar to approach and made her stand next to Graznikh, almost close enough to touch. Graznikh stared at the carpet as the Dark Lord _shifted_ and a Power so strong that it threatened to tear everything he was from him washed over, under, around and through him. It was agony, extasy, as a white-hot spear shattered the darkness and the bond opened wide. He heard Záhovar scream with Whindaër's voice and he screamed himself as he passed out.  
Záhovar screamed as feelings rushed in to fill a void she had not even been aware of before. The familiar Shadow and Flame swirled around her, but there was also searing Light and the contesting forces threatened to tear her apart. She desperately reached for the blessed Darkness and felt the Dark Lord's presence hold her together as the torrent raged. There was another presence as well, just as dark but nowhere near as strong. She reached for that as well and was met with welcome.

  
As Graznikh came to, he found himself lying in a soft comfortable bed in an unfamiliar room. He looked around but there was nothing that could tell him where he was. Then the memories returned. He reached out through the bond, and found... Darkness? Then the presence that was Záhovar invaded his mind. He tried to resist but had no chance against the powerful presence. She drank his memories and emotions like a vampire until Graznikh kicked and screamed for her to stop. Then she was gone just as fast as she had come. He shivered and gasped, trying to regain his sanity after the violent intrusion.  _What the everloving fuck was that?!_ Then he felt something touch the bond, much gentler than before. There was wonder and regret. He smiled weakly.  _I know, Záhovar. It wasn't easy for me either. Is this what it felt like for you, the first time?_ Power pulsed through the bond, feeding his strength and he suddenly found himself extraordinarily alert. It was like the most potent ghâshpau he had ever had. He concentrated on the bond and pumped as much love and lust as he could muster through it. He grinned at the loud gasp and clinking sound from outside.

Záhovar was wiping spilled wine from the table and her trousers. She looked up as Graznikh walked over and grabbed her arms, lifting her to her feet. ”What is-” she began but was interrupted as Graznikh grabbed her head and kissed her passionately. Záhovar froze. _What is he doing?!_ Graznikh tried to push his own want through the bond, but hesitated as he got no response. He withdrew and gave her a confused look which she returned. ”Why did you...” He took a step back, then he turned and roared out his frustration. He exhaled sharply as Záhovar's intense intrusion returned, digging through his head.  
”Will you stop doing that?!” he roared. The tendrils disappeared and he glared at her. She looked as confused as he felt.  
”I only... wish to understand.”  
Graznikh fell into one of the armchairs with a groan, burying his face in his hands. ”Why did He have to take everything? Couldn't He have left a few scraps for me?”  
”What is it He took?” Záhovar asked as she sat down.  
”Everything that made you _you_. What the fuck did He _do_ to you?”  
She frowned. ”He created me.”  
”No!!” Graznikh looked up. ”No, he didn't! You were there before too, just... different. But you don't remember anything, do you?”  
”Whatever there was before, it is gone now.”  
”No, it isn't! I was there, I remember everything! I just... wish you could remember as well.” _Maybe this bond wasn't such a good idea after all. What's the point if there's nothing left?_  
She gave him a wary look. ”I could see yours. Your memories, if you would let me.”  
He gave her a look. ”Why ask now? Why not just invade like you've done twice already?”  
”It is easier if you are willing.”  
He snorted. ”Sure, why not. Go ahead, I won't stop you.” He leaned back, steeling himself and trying to open himself up, but this time it _was_ easier. He brought up memories himself for her to see. He couldn't give her own memories back, but he could give his view of her.  
”Was I truly so weak?” Záhovar said as she studied the moment when Whindaër protested his killing of the tark. Graznikh shrugged.  
”Maybe it's just strength of a different kind.”  
Záhovar shook her head. ”There is strength and there is weakness. Power does not come in hues.”  
Graznikh felt inclined to agree.

She seemed particularly interested in the memories he had of the times they lay together. He couldn't help but grin. _I wonder what it feels like to see yourself in that situation but not having any memory of it happening?_ ”See something you like?”  
”I... had no idea it could be... pleasurable.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Seriously?”  
”My previous tutors made sure I disliked it as much as possible.”  
Graznikh's eyes narrowed. ”They raped you?” Then he was blasted by memories that weren't his. Of that first Officer he'd killed, grunting and sweating above. Of him laughing at the screams. Of uruks doing the same thing, taking his place. Of pain, humiliation and intense hate. He screamed and tried to shut it all out. Thankfully, Záhovar got the gist now and ended it. Graznikh was furious. ”I'm gonna learn black magic just so I can wake 'em all up from the dead. Then I'll kill them again, over and over to the end of time.”  
”Why do you care?” The sincere question cut like knives.  
”Because...” He had no words with which to answer, so he showed her instead. He lifted every happy moment he and Whindaër had shared, the fucking, the chasing, the playfighting, the falling asleep in each others arms... With the memories came the pain, but he pressed on, pushing everything to the surface. Záhovar looked concerned. _So you're not completely dead inside, after all,_ he thought. Then he had the impulse to show her exactly what he had been through. He threw every painful moment in her face, from the moment he felt her fade the first time, to the years of her torture, to the moment the bond died, the nightmares and grief. What he had felt with Praktash, and when she tore him away from that. He shoved it all against her and as he did, he noticed the crease between her eyebrows deepen. She looked... disturbed. Suddenly she broke contact, got up and began pacing the room with an alarmed expression.  
”You okay?”  
” There is... something,” she said as she paced. Then she stopped, her eyes widened and she gasped. Graznikh felt the bond fail and shot up. ”No! No no no no, not again, not now!” He caught her as she fell and felt the Dark Lord's awareness descend upon them like a black eagle. The bond wavered and shook, then it slowly stabilised. Graznikh breathed a sigh of relief as she opened her eyes.  
”I'm sorry,” he whispered.  
”I am not strong enough,” she whispered back as she met his eyes. ”Give it time.” Graznikh shook. For a brief moment, Whindaër had spoken. For a moment, it had been her eyes looking at him. He nodded. ”Sure, I can do that.”

”So, what'll happen now? I mean, now that you're an Officer, I'd guess my job is done.”  
”Do you wish to leave?”  
”No! I mean, I wouldn't mind it if I could go out of the Tower every now and then, but... I don't wanna lose you again.”  
”Then will you accept a place in my personal entourage?”  
”I don't even know what that means.”  
”Be my bodyguard,” Záhovar said. ”Follow me when I travel, carry whatever commands I have to the Low Officers, that sort of things.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Will I still get paid?”  
”Yes. You will get a regular allowance and all your expenses will be covered by me personally. But I will want to know that you do not squander.”  
”Well, you already read my mind so I doubt I could squander without you knowing it.”  
”Then you accept?”  
”'Course I do! I told ya; I'm yours.”  
”Then from now on, you are my servant and do my bidding. It is risky, for I am not yet strong enough to openly challenge other High Officers should you end up in trouble, and everything you do will reflect upon me. None of the other High Officers have common orcs in their personal entourage, as they are considered too chaotic and unreliable.”  
Graznikh shot her a wicked grin. ”Then I'll just have to prove them wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nashrakû - old woman (sharkû - old man)


	4. Journey To The Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: "Hold It Together" by Mesh.

Graznikh lay on his bed as Záhovar returned from her first briefing. He had agreed to stay in her quarters for a while before going back down to Praktash. Or rather, she had commanded him to stay. Despite the lack of emotions from Záhovar's end, the simple fact that the gaping void in his chest had closed was enough to make him feel full and content. He had slept soundly and without nightmares for the first full week in years, in a soft comfortable bed in a room all his own and with Záhovar's calming presence in his mind. One evening as he woke up, Záhovar was waiting for him. She had left her armour on the stand, meaning that she didn't plan to leave her quarters this night. She beckoned to him to approach but wrinkled her nose as he came close. ”When was the last time you bathed?” she asked.  
”Bathed? Not in ages,” he replied. He could scarcely remember his last visit to the scrubhouses down in the underground. She beckoned for him to follow and entered the room opposite the entrance. As Graznikh passed the threshold, he could only stare.

The room was dominated by a large bathtub sunken into the floor. Large unlit braziers filled with coal instead of oil stood in each corner and gave off a strange, sweet scent.  
”Must take ages to fill that up,” he said as he squatted at the tub's edge. Záhovar gave him a half-smile and turned a strange little mechanism on the wall. Immediately, steaming hot water began pouring out of several holes in the wall.  
”There are large steam-driven pumps in the underground,” she explained to the bewildered orc. ”Water is poured in from outside and the pressure of the steam pushes it up through pipes in the Tower walls. All of the Tower, from the kitchens below to the Dark Lord's own chambers, have free access to running water.” Graznikh grinned as he watched the tub fill up. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Záhovar standing a few paces away with folded arms. ”Undress.”  
The command made him frown and he stood. ”What, here? Now?”  
She did not deign to repeat the command. Graznikh grinned as he slowly stripped down to his loincloth. _Yes!_ She gave his loincloth a stern look.  
”Oops,” he grinned. ”Forgot that one, sorry.” She watched him with mild interest as he tore it off and threw it over his shoulder. _How can you be so cold in a situation like this?_ She came closer and placed a hand on his chest, tracing his scars. The hand slid downwards and for a moment he thought she would touch his cock, but the hand changed direction just before. The thought alone was enough to make him harden. She traced the scar on his shoulder as she moved behind him and followed the lash marks on his back, so ancient now that they had faded almost completely. He had to bite back a purr as he felt her fingers touch his buttock where Praktash's claws had once dug in a little too deep. The memory of that moment came unbidden to his mind and he felt his dick throb. Suddenly he realised that Záhovar had stopped, standing next to him and watching him intently. A chill ran down his spine as he met her expressionless gaze.  
  
”Who is he?”  
”Just... just a buddy,” Graznikh said as he cursed his own stupidity. He had just outed his best pal to a High Officer!  
”And you do not wish for me to know about him,” she said calmly. ”Why?”  
”He doesn't want anything to do with... Officers. And I don't wanna get him in trouble.”  
”That is not for him to decide.” Záhovar smiled, and Graznikh felt his knees go weak from horror.  
”Do you want me?” she whispered. Moments ago he would've thrown himself at her at that question alone. Now he dared not say no. There was an insane, predatorial gleam in her eyes that was enhanced by the fact that her eyes, once deep blue and shining like the stars, now burned with the Eye's own fire but blue instead of red.  
”Who is he?” she repeated. As Graznikh hesitated, her eyes grew dangerous. He could feel her presence slowly approach through the bond, she would take what she wanted from him no matter what he tried. ”Not for me to decide either, eh?” He whispered with a frightened grin. ”Alright! Alright, I'll talk.” He sighed as her presence retreated. ”He's an uruk from Blog Shakâmb. Nashrakû Gîrakûn was... his mistress, I think. His torturer for sure. He brews potions and stuff for the garrison.”  
”And what is he to you?”  
”We, well we... live together. We share a room, or it's his room really, I just stay there. We hang out, we drink, we fuck at times. I don't know what to call it.” Then an odd thought hit him. ”Are you jealous?”  
”I do not know that word.”  
”Are you... Did ya get upset when you saw that memory? D'you want me to stop doing that with him?”  
”No. I want you to continue.”  
Graznikh snorted nervously. ”That's good. 'Cause I don't really wanna stop.” Then he frowned as an odd notion came to him. He touched the bond and felt intense envy through it. ”D'you... D'you wanna know what it's like? Is that it?” She gave him a small nod. He began to understand as he placed his hands on her waist and turned her around to untie the sash.

Zàhovar had no idea what to expect as the orc undressed her. Rape she knew well. Pain, fear, humiliation, hate. These were feelings she understood and could relate to. Whoever controlled them had power over those suffering from them. What Graznikh had thrown at her after they awoke that first night was something else completely. She realised that there was a large piece of experience missing here, for she could not relate to his memories at all. She could not even imagine what it was like, and her thirst for knowledge and power pushed her to explore.  
Graznikh tossed the robe aside and let his hands roam, marvelling at her smooth skin. The strange marks that covered her body seemed to be located underneath the skin, visible but untouchable. For some reason it reminded him of a cage.  
”So ya wanna know what fucking's like,” he murmured in her ear. ”I'll show ya, oh I'll show ya good...” Záhovar felt a jolt of _something_ as his thumbs brushed over her breasts.  
”Continue with that,” she said and tried to analyse the strange sensation his hands brought her. It spread to other parts that had not even been touched yet, and she seemed to need to breathe deeper despite not having exerted herself.  
”Can I go on?” he asked after a while. As Záhovar nodded, he slowly slid a hand down her front and in between her legs. He pressed her close and she could feel his congested member press against the inside of a thigh. Graznikh let out a deep, reverberating rumble as he fingered her wetness and heard her gasp slightly. Záhovar seemed even more out of touch with her body than Whin had been, but he intended to change that. He gently bit the nape of her neck as his fingers moved and he couldn't keep from bucking slowly, rubbing his cock against her skin.

Everything spun and he hit the wall with a thud that forced the air from his lungs. Záhovar hissed, eyeing him with that same deranged smile that she had worn earlier. Graznikh's common sense told him that the intense fear that he suddenly felt was completely irrational, that it had to be coming from her. It seemed to trigger her the same way her fear had once triggered him, and that insight gave him enough control to think. _So that's how you wanna play, is it?_ He gave in to the dread and she came closer, descending upon him like a snake on a poisoned prey. The dread evaporated as he scooped her up into his arms with a growl and grinned at her wide-eyed look. ”Didn't expect that, did ya?”  
Záhovar was taken aback as she lost control. She had felt herself slip at the orc's touch, and submitting was not something she had been taught to do. This seemed like just another contest of wills where defeat was not an option. She could invade his mind through the bond the Dark Lord had so generously gifted to her, but that would end it far too soon. She had not yet learned enough.

Graznikh dumped her unceremoniously onto the large bed, closing the curtains behind him. She struggled as he pulled her close but stopped once he spoke.  
”This ain't a battle, âmbal,” he purred as he sank down between her legs, rubbing his shoulders against her thighs. She gave him a look full of suspicion. ”I'm yer snaga,” he growled lustfully,”yer word is my law. Whatever you want me t' do, I'll do it. I'm yours.”  
She kept eyeing him. _Did he give in so easily? Why?_ ”Then show me,” she whispered.  
”Yes, mistress.” Graznikh grinned. He held her gaze as he lowered his head, tongue stretched out, and felt a deep satisfaction as she fell back with a sigh. He growled and ground his hips against the bed as he felt her nails dig into his shoulders. There was a protesting hiss when he lifted his head after a while.  
”I did not tell you to stop!”  
”Will ya let me fuck ya, mistress? I'll make it even better than this, I swear!”  
She seemed to ponder it for a moment, then she nodded. But as he moved to mount her, she pushed him out of the way and sat up. ”Lie down.”  
Graznikh felt confused, but obeyed. He didn't have to wonder for long as Záhovar straddled him and took him deep inside in one fluid move. She smiled darkly at his astonished grin, but this time he felt no fear.  
”Think you that I would give in so easily? Think again,” she murmured as her nails scraped across his scarred chest. Graznikh purred as she rode him, drinking in the delicious sight. Then he couldn't hold back anymore. He grabbed her hips and forced a loud ”ah!” from her as he began pounding up into her. He sat up and pushed her down on her back, pulling her legs up against his chest and held them steady with one hand so that she wouldn't be able to move away. The other he placed on her shoulder to keep her steady as he fucked her hard. She clawed his neck and chest, drawing blood and spurring him even further into lustful frenzy. _So good, so..._

There was a knock on the door. Graznikh growled, but Záhovar made no move to acknowledge it. Another knock, louder this time, and Záhovar hissed.  
”Fuck off!!” Graznikh roared. He could feel the shockwave as a spell broke the lock.  
”You will not deny me, Záhovar, you impudent whelp,” the castellan said as he stormed in and pulled one of the curtains aside. Then he stopped, staring in shock at the sight before him. Graznikh shot him a look of pure hate, his face twisted with fury, but Záhovar simply met his eyes with an impassive expression.  
”I am a little busy at the moment,” she said. ”I shall be with you shortly, as soon as my current appointment is done.”  
Disgust and outrage vied for control of the castellan's face as he dropped the curtain. ”You have until the next toll,” he spat as he left.  
”Close the door!” Graznikh shouted after him but there was no indication that he had heard. Graznikh swore and moved to get up, but Záhovar's nails dug into his thigh.  
”He made his choice,” she said sternly. ”I do not care who hears.” Graznikh grinned madly at that, and soon after he made sure that her cries of completion echoed all the way down to the castellan's office.

Afterwards, Záhovar shared some of her food with him before leaving for her next appointment. The contents of the plate confirmed his suspicions – that the only reason the rest of Lugburz ate that disgusting gruel was because the Top Ones hoarded all the good stuff for themselves. He almost got sentimental as he tasted his first piece of rare aurochs cold cut.  
”Praktash would punch the living shit out of me if he saw me now,” he said with a grin as he licked the meat juice from his fingers.  
”Why is that?”  
”He really doesn't like Officers, and I promised that he could punch me if I ever became too much like one.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”Why make such a promise?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He picked up an odd little fruit and gave it a sceptical look before throwing it in his mouth and chewing with a thoughtful expression. The next moment he was on the floor, spitting and cursing. ”Bolgurz bagronk agh garzogajolatari!! My bloody mouth's on fire! What the _fuck_ was that?! ”  
Záhovar began to pour water into a goblet, but he grabbed the pitcher from her hand and drank right out of it. She was laughing quietly as he lowered it, sweating like he had run across the Gorgoroth with a dragon at his heels.  
”It was a pepper,” she said. ”A spice meant to be cut very thinly and eaten together with other foods. Not on its own.”  
”Well ya could've said so before I ate it,” he said and gave her a weak grin. ”That oughta teach me not to eat stuff I don't recognise.”  
”Will it?”  
”Nah, probably not.”  
  
The tub was full, so they both washed after eating. Graznikh kept a number of little belongings on his belt, among them the rough brush he used in the scrubhouses, and he made sure to scrub himself clean now that he had the chance. Bathing in water was a luxury that the orcs in the Tower had no access to. The brush that Záhovar used on herself was much softer, made of some kind of fine hair and the soap was the finest and softest Graznikh had ever seen, smooth and with a deep green colour but completely unscented. She held the brush out to him. ”Wash me.”  
”Yes mistress,” he replied with a purr.  
”Master,” she corrected.  
”What?”  
”Master.” She repeated. ”You will adress me as master, and refer to me as 'Lord Záhovar' when speaking to others.”  
Graznikh nodded, utterly confused. ”Yeah... when they made you Officer, they all said 'he'. This got something to do with that?”  
”Yes.” She frowned. ”Women are breeders, wives, in many cultures among Men and orcs they have little power of their own. I am a High Officer, and He will not accept any disrespect be shown me because of my gender. For other reasons though, I am 'free game'.”  
”Well, pardon my sayin' so but you'll never pass as a guy,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Not with those hips. Even your armour is like built to show you off.”  
”His word is law.”  
”Right.”  
As Záhovar brushed her long hair with her fingers after the bath, Graznikh remembered something and returned to his belt. The little comb had darkened from years of him fondling it. At some point during those few months they had in peace, Whindaër had carved a cascade of little leaves along one end. He held it and closed his eyes, awash with memories of a time and place long gone. Záhovar looked up as she felt his pain through the bond. ”What is it?”  
Graznikh shook his head, clutching the comb. ”Just memories,” he whispered. Then he held it up. ”I don't really wanna part with this, but... I could brush your hair with it, if ya let me.” She nodded. Whindaër would never let him brush her hair for fear that his rough hands would do it damage. Záhovar had no such qualms, sitting with closed eyes as he combed and pawed the dark hair. _I could get used to this,_ he thought. _Being her snaga, doing this. I wouldn't mind at all._ He felt giddy as the obsession dug its claws into him.

Graznikh was asleep in Záhovar's bed when she returned from her meeting with the castellan. ”We are leaving,” she said to the dazed orc.  
”What? When?”  
”Now. Pack whatever things you want to bring.” Záhovar began gathering things on her bed as Graznikh rose. ”Where're we going?”  
”Thaurband, at first. I do not know where He intends to go next.”  
”'He'? You mean...”  
”Yes. The vice castellan has gone to requisition mounts for us both.”  
”I already have a warg,” Graznikh said.  
”Yes, the vice castellan said that he knew which one to pick.”  
_Zuzar,_ Graznikh thought with a grin. _I hope he gets the right one._ ”I just need to take a trip down to the east gate first, there's someone-”  
”There is no time,” Záhovar said. ”We are already late.”  
” What?! But-” The lash that hit him through the bond was agony and he grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. He avoided Záhovar's glare as he went to pack his meagre belongings. _Sorry, mate. I'll have to try an' get a message through to ya some other way. He probably thinks I'm dead,_ he thought as he strapped his knives to his back.

Zuzar fought its bonds as Graznikh and Záhovar entered the secluded courtyard. The warg had been outfitted with a proper saddle and harness, and a heavy iron collar and two chains secured it to the wall. There was dried black blood around its snout, showing that outfitting the riderless warg had been a fatal task for some of the kennel keepers. Graznikh grinned as he was greeted by a giant tongue and a ferociously wagging tail.  
”Hey buddy, did ya miss me? I'm sorry I was gone so long, I never got the time to tell ya. How's Praktash?”  
The warg grew quiet at hearing the uruk's name. ”Nâror,” it growled. ”Âshuk.”  
Graznikh winced. ”And I can't even tell him I'm alive. We've got a new master now, an' we gotta follow he-... him,” he corrected himself. Approval reached him through the bond.  
”Golug,” the warg said as it sniffed in Záhovar's direction. She gave it a sharp look.  
”Not anymore,” Graznikh said. ”Durbatar. Lug Durbatar Zàhovar. So, are ya ready to go for a ride? A real long one?”  
”Wuf!” The warg grinned as he mounted. Záhovar rode a black horse with strange red eyes that danced restlessly as they left the courtyard and began making their way towards the main gate. Graznikh hoped to spot Praktash somewhere in the crowd, but the uruk was nowhere to be seen.

  
As Praktash came to the warg kennels to take Zuzar for a walk, he could not find the warg anywhere. He asked one of the kennel keepers, who shrugged. ”Some Officer took it earlier. New owner an' all that.”  
”What, just like that? Who?”  
”Fuck if I know. I don't keep track of every Top One who passes 'ere.” The kennel master glanced up at the uruk. ”Why, what's it to you?”  
”Nothing, just curious.”  
Back in the stash room, Praktash looked at Graznikh's empty mattress. He hadn't gotten around to moving it out of the way. ”You can't lay claim like that,” he whispered. ”Whatever he was before, he belongs to the Eye now. And He doesn't share. Shoulda listened to my own bloody advice...” He grimaced and punched the leather bag he used for a pillow. Then he got up and continued packing.

  
Outside the gates, Záhovar's horse snorted loudly and kicked at the warg.  
”Darat!” she growled and whipped it hard, and it actually seemed to subdue the beast somewhat. She sighed. She was not overly fond of horses, the beasts were unintelligent and unruly. It was a mount for weaklings, but wargs would only carry orcs. Another Officer from Rhûn whom she had spoken to at times had mentioned a breed of horses that were more intelligent than the rest, but that were nearly impossible to tame by traditional means. She kicked the horse into a canter and Graznikh followed suit. They took the Doom road past the Mountain and passed the patrol responsible for clearing it from the constant lava flows on the way. They were on their way back to the Tower, which meant the road would be clear. At the large orc camp near the aptly named Orc Crossing they rested for the day, and the next evening they continued along the Moroth South road that would take them past Morigost and the Pass of Nurza-Shûk.  
”This is the Morgai,” Záhovar said and pointed towards the ridge in the distance.”The inner fence of Mordor. The Outer Fence runs all the way south of the river Poros, where it turns sharply east. There are only two passes, the one you see to the west and one in the southern corner. Other than those, the mountains form an impenetrable wall against the Enemy.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Nah, it ain't impenetrable.”  
Záhovar stared at him as they began to move again. ”What do you mean?”  
”I climbed them,” he said. ”Me and Zuzar both, when I went lookin' for you. There are spiders there though, big as a trader's cart, so I doubt any tarks would ever dare to cross 'em.” When disbelief hit him through the bond, he brought up some memories of the perilous trip. The disbelief was replaced by astonishment and, surprisingly, respect. It made Graznikh feel really good. Zuzar growled merrily at having its neck scratched.

They rode hard and reached the fortress of Morigost the next morning. Graznikh frowned as Záhovar led them up a narrow sloping path. ”I thought you said there was a fortress on this mountain?”  
”There is,” she said and pointed towards a large gate in the mountain that appeared as they passed a corner. ”The entire cliff is hollow. The mountain _is_ the fortress. I demand passage, ” she shouted at the gate. ”I am Záhovar, High Officer of Lugburz, Seen by the Eye! Open the gate or fear His wrath!” There was a clanging sound and the gate slowly swung open, each door pushed by six orc soldiers. The Captain of the place came down a flight of stairs as they dismounted. There was a lot of posturing, scraping and tough talk. Eventually Záhovar got weary of it and Graznikh caught a flash of anger through the bond. He stepped up to the babbling Captain and planted a boot in his guts.  
”Enough of this,” Záhovar snapped at the groveling orc. ”Get me my quarters!” Once the Captain had picked himself up from the floor, he nodded and began barking commands at the 'farkin' snaga rabble'. A little while later, he returned with the good news that quarters had been found.  
”I guess yer snaga'll be stayin' with th' rest o' us?” the Captain said. Záhovar gave a short nod and left, leaving Graznikh alone. He glanced at the Captain.  
”Watch who you're callin' snaga,” he growled. The Captain glanced over his shoulder, making sure Záhovar was well out of hearing range before he replied: ”Aren't we all, eh?”  
Graznikh scowled. ”Tryin' to get used to the damn title,” he muttered and the captain laughed.  
”C'mon, have a drink an' sumthing to eat. It'll help ya.”

”So what's up with that 'un? Ain't never heard of a Top One lookin' like that. An' what the fuck's up with th' fancy name, eh?” One of the Captain's lackeys couldn't contain his curiosity. Graznikh was in no hurry to finish the gruel, so he kept handing out little scraps of info that only served to make the little orc even more excited.  
”He's new,” he said. ”Brand new outta the Tower.”  
”An' th' first thing they do is send 'im packin',” the Captain said with a sneer.  
Graznikh gave him an insane grin. ”Oh, they didn't. He's handpicked by the Eye itself. Got trained by the best.”  
”And sent off with just th' one snaga in tow? Sounds like a shit hand t' me.”  
Graznikh chuckled. Oh, don't make that mistake. There's a reason they sent someone like him off like this.”  
”Oh?” The little lackey sat on the edge of the bench, leaning towards Graznikh with big eyes. ”What izzit? What izzit?”  
Graznikh lowered his voice. ”They say big things're happening off South. Maybe even another war. The tarks are fortifyin' the shores, we're going there to investigate.” He lowered it even more, so that the others had to lean in to hear him. ”If things're too serious, they say the Eye might lead the assault Himself.” He winked to the little orc, who was now shivering with excitement at being privy to the intel of a Top One.  
But the Captain snorted. ”Ev'ryone talks o' war, all th' bloody time. One Officer ain't much o' an army, izzit?”  
”Don't make that mistake,” Graznikh said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. ”You haven't seen 'im fight.”  
”Soon you'll say you trained 'im yerself.” Graznikh didn't reply to that but the little one's eyes grew even larger and he had to bite his tongue to not laugh at the sight. The Captain downed the contents of his tankard and gave him an insolent look.  
”Ye're a downright loyal little prick, aren't ya?”

Suddenly, over a hundred pairs of eyes were upon them. Graznikh didn't move and gave the Captain a relaxed but smug grin. ”D'ya really wanna fight me? Really?” Zuzar lifted its head and gave the Captain a forthright look. The Captain leaned towards him. ”Well, you ain't got an Officer t' save yer ass now, do ya?”  
”Actually...” The temperature in the cavern fell, and the Captain turned to stare into Záhovar's icy eyes. One of his hands began to tremble volently.  
”W-we were just, ah... J-just foolin' round, right, eh?” He gave Graznikh a panicked grin, which Graznikh returned with a smile that would've been benevolent if not for the deranged gleam in his eyes. ”I didn't mean anythin' by it!” The Captain shot up. ”See? We're all buddies here, right?”  
Záhovar slowly shook her head. ”You will fight.”  
Graznikh rose from the table, spun around in an almost dance-like move and drew his blades. The Captain tumbled back with a squeak but managed to avoid the incoming attack. Graznikh drew back and waited for him to draw his blade so that they could fight for real.  
Záhovar watched the scene with outward august calm, but Graznikh could feel her bloodlust. As the red haze descended upon him he felt her sample and savour it, leaving a sensation as if she had been running her tongue all over his naked body. The pleasure made him click his fangs at the terrified Captain. It was over far too soon.

”If I hear of any more disturbances or insubordination, I will have this fortress cleaned out of every last living thing,” Záhovar said when the Captain had finally stopped twitching. The cavern was quiet as the Halls of Death, except for Graznikh's hoarse humming as he cleaned his knives and Zuzar's snoring. The warg had managed to sleep through the whole thing. Graznikh met Záhovar's eyes and the approval in them made his knees weak. _She's really pullin' my strings, that one,_ he thought as she turned away. _Half the time I don't even notice it. But then why does it feel so good?_  
”Er...” Záhovar glanced over her shoulder as a large orc caught her attention.  
”Yes?”  
”We, er... We've got no Cap'n now. Who'll take 'is place?”  
Záhovar gave Graznikh a look.  
”Yes Master,” Graznikh said with a half-bow. As she nodded and left, he turned to the crowd. ”I'll make that decision. If ya wanna argue your case, form a line.”

The ensuing chaos was nowhere near a line as everyone with the slightest ambition began vying for his favour. A few fights broke out but a menacing growl was enough to break them up. He made every applicant name two others that he could agree to follow as Captain. Of course, most of them would pick two who would be easy to subdue or kill so that they could take the place themselves later on. Graznikh expected it, and soon one orc had risen who hadn't been named a single time. Graznikh eyed him. From what he had been able to pick up during the night, this guy wasn't near the bottom of the pecking order, but not one of the old Captain's lackeys either. He wasn't the largest of orcs but not small either, with light brown skin and grey hair, and he bore a number of scars on his face. There was a gleam of cunning in his eyes that Graznikh liked.  
”What's yer name?”  
”Sulmurz,” the other grunted.  
”Where ya from?”  
”Stronghold in th' Eastern Desolation.” _Not a talkative one,_ Graznikh thought. _Smart enough to keep his tongue to himself._ He motioned for him to take a seat, which Sulmurz did after giving Graznikh an evaluating look.  
”So what were you in the Desolation?”  
”Raider. Caravan guard. That sort o' thing.” He nodded in thanks as Graznikh passed him a mug. ”But I had enough. Figured soldiering would be calmer. A little too calm.”  
Graznikh flashed him a grin of understanding. ”None of the others named you. Why's that, d'you think?”  
Sulmurz gave him a lopsided grin. ”'That's 'cause I never joined their little game of 'who's-gonna-be-the-next-Chief'. I could take it, sure, an' keep the spot too. But I never cared for that, seemed like too much hassle.” _Lazy, lack of ambition or simply smart enough to keep a low profile?_  
”So if I give it to ya, what'd ya say?”

Sulmurz met Graznikh's eyes. There was a brief gleam of ambition in his eyes, but he hid it well. _Smart,_ Graznikh decided. ”If ya survive long enough, there might be more in it later, if you're interested,” he added. Sulmurz narrowed his eyes, as if taking in the new info and turning it over in his head. Graznikh pretended to ignore him, instead swirling the drink in his mug and watching the cavern. Most of the others had gone back to whatever they were doing before the entertainment begun. Some threw sullen looks in Sulmurz' direction, but averted their eyes when Graznikh met theirs. The old Captain's lackeys were nowhere to be found save for the little orc, who peered at him from the corner it had hid in as the fight began. He beckoned for the little one to come closer, which it did reluctantly.  
”So how did a lttle one like you survive here” Graznikh asked. The little one opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when Sulmurz snorted.  
”He may be tiny, but Mikbork's the best sniffer I've ever seen. And he doesn't eat much, so he's an easy keeper.” Mikbork beamed at the praise, but his eyes grew wide as Graznikh pushed a mug into his hands, staring at it as if he had never seen one before.  
”Well, good sniffers are always in high demand,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Have a drink, you look like you need it. The new Captain'll have much use for you, I'd wager.” He gave Sulmurz a meaning glance, which was returned with a grin.  
”Fine, have it your way,” Sulmurz said. Graznikh nodded and brought his mug down hard against the table a few times to get everyone's attention.  
”Sulmurz is in charge from now on,” he said loudly. ”I'll be keepin' an eye on this place, and any disturbances I hear of will be reported and dealt with accordingly. The Eye wants the place in check for the comin' war, so anything that goes against that will be seen as treason.” The murmur rose from the crowd as he sat back down and downed the contents of his mug. _I hate talkin' in front of people like this. The torment you put me through, Záhovar..._ He couldn't help but grin as he felt a gentle tug on the bond. Sulmurz was already surrounded by a bunch of potential lickspittles, asserting himself as if he was born to do so. _Good pick, there. I hope he lasts, could use someone like him on the team._ He had already begun looking for potential recruits for Záhovar's bodyguard with the intention of building his own little band of trusty fellows.

Záhovar was already lying down on the makeshift bed as he entered her temporary quarters a few hours later. He rolled out his bedroll next to the door and laid down, using his own body as a doorblock.  
”I wouldn't be much use as a bodyguard if i didn't do my part,” he said as Záhovar gave him an odd look. She nodded.  
”You did well out there.”  
”Thanks. And thanks for coming to my aid.”  
”Aid?”  
”Yeah, with the Captain. I know you didn't intend it that way, but still... Thanks.”  
She nodded, not knowing what to reply.

  
After leaving Morigost and Nurza-Shûk, they took the Nurn road south. The landscape changed abruptly as they came within view of the inland sea and the Maegond vale. Thaurband was a rather large trading hub-turned-city located near a natural harbour on the southwestern shore of Nurnen. Unlike northern Mordor, the land here was green and fertile. Ashfalls from the Mountain gave the soil and roofs a rich grey colour. Cultivated fields stretched along the lake's shores in both directions, tended by innumerable slaves.  
A small fortress lay on a hill in the northern part of the city, but Záhovar did not take her following there, choosing instead an inn near the sea.  
”Why not the fortress?” Graznikh asked as he closed the door to their room.  
”Because the commander is an imbecile,” Záhovar replied. ”Are you familiar with the name Dachman?” Graznikh let out a loud groan.  
”Not that one again! Can I kill him? Please?”  
”As tempting as that may be, I must say no. For all his antics he is a capable administrator, and as I have said, I am not yet strong enough to challenge him openly.”  
”Do we have to meet him? I can't promise I won't go nuts on him if he starts reciting poetry again.”  
Záhovar gave him a wry smile. ”I will have to, eventually. You need not follow me.”  
”I'm not leavin' your side,” Graznikh said. ”Bodyguard, an' all that.”  
  
They had a few days' leisure before the Dark Lord and His following arrived, so Záhovar and Graznikh spent some time exploring the markets. It was larger than the one in Lugburz, hosting a myriad of stalls selling everything from exotic spices and silks to the High Officers and other higher-ranking individuals of Mordor to the regular weapons- and armour merchants. At one point, a man came out of one of the stalls as they passed.  
”Excuse me!” As Záhovar stopped, he bowed deeply on bended knee. ”My deepest apologies for this interruption. But are you High Officer Záhovar?” Graznikh reached for his knives, but Záhovar stopped him.  
”I am,” she said. The man stood and fetched a large package from inside his stall.  
”The Blacklocks send their regards, and thanks you for the purchase,” he said as he handed it over. Záhovar nodded her thanks and motioned for Graznikh to take it, which he did with a confused frown.

”What? I don't need new weapons!” he exclaimed as they returned to the inn.  
”You do. If you are to be my Hand you will need to look the part. Complain all you want; posturing is necessary.”  
”My blades are just f-” Graznikh began but was interrupted as Záhovar pushed the package against his chest. He scowled. ”Bloody Officers... ain't gonna dress up like a bloody pansy... Guh!” His grumbling was cut short as Záhovar yanked the bond. He continued grumbling quietly as he opened the package but fell silent when he saw the contents. There was a back plate with sheaths attached and two short swords, similar to what he had but of much better quality. The new swords were longer, but lighter and better balanced. They had no decorations of any sort; the high quality spoke for itself and was decoration enough. As he tested the edge, he found them to be extremely sharp.  
”Where'd you get these?” he asked.  
”I commissioned them from the dwarves of the Yellow Mountains in the Far South.”  
”We have dwarves on our side?”  
”Hardly. But the dwarves in the East are, if possible, even more indifferent about the world outside their caves than those in the West. And they will not turn away gold, no matter where it comes from.”  
”Hmh. Makes sense.” Graznikh eyed the blades again, fingering the dark oiled leather. These weren't the kind of blades one welded together in an afternoon; they must have taken weeks, perhaps even months, to complete and ship all the way to Thaurband. He had seen a crude map over the Far South in one of the books on the table in Záhovar's quarters and the Yellow Mountains were not even on it, so they must be even farther away. It struck him that she must have commissioned them while she was still his student. _She had this all planned,_ he thought with a wry grin.  
” There is another thing, as well.”  
Graznikh's heart sank into his guts as he spotted the collar in Záhovar's hand. ”You gonna leash me like a bloody dog?!” _Yes, yes she is. And you'll wear it like a good little snaga._ He wished that he'd stop hearing Praktash's voice in his head at times like these. The uruk would never have submitted to the things Graznikh did. But Graznikh wasn't Praktash, he'd thrown the dice and he couldn't cheat his way of this now. He closed his eyes and nodded. There was a click as the collar snapped shut around his neck, and he met Záhovar's impassive eyes with a defeated whimper. _Collared like a dog. You're a snaga for real now. Feels good, doesn't it?_ Graznikh suddenly frowned. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel her manipulation clearly through the bond. It was subtle, the way she kept soothing his longing for freedom and independence and fanning the flames of his lust and affection, effectively subduing every single thought he had of rebellion. He felt sick, but Záhovar simply nodded to him before turning away.  
  
”Záhovar!” Dachman exclaimed, holding his arms out in a mocking welcome. ”I did not think you would visit me at all! Such a shame... And I see you still prefer the rabble,” he said with a nod towards Graznikh. ”Collared like a pet. Old habits die hard, hm?”  
”Harder than some,” Záhovar replied coolly. ”I take it the preparations are going well?”  
”Nothing that warrants concern,” Dachman said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then he glanced at her. ”What news from Lugburz?”  
”You have two days. Morigost has a new Captain, and the vice castellan has been replaced. Other than that, it has been calm.”  
”Replaced, indeed.” Dachman stopped at the large glass doors that led to a balcony with an amazing view of the sea.  
”Inspiring,” Dachman said with a nod towards it, ”but the novelty wears off when you see it every day. 'For the waves shall be mountains and crash 'pon the shore, as Elenna will writhe in the Dark...' Ah, t'is but a thought so far.” He turned back to Záhovar. ”Two days, you said?”  
She nodded. ”I will be available, should you need my aid.” Dachman nodded and waved his hand, not quite giving her permission to go but almost. Záhovar breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped back outside.  
”He wasn't as bad as last time,” Graznikh muttered.

  
Two days later, Záhovar stood on parade next to Dachman in the fortress courtyard as the Dark Lord's entourage entered. He did not ride a black horse as one would expect, but a brilliant chestnut whose coat gleamed with a metallic shimmer despite the cloudy sky. The large horse seemed to dance as it moved, beaming with pride to bear its master forth. Zuzar made a quiet comment that Záhovar did not catch, but Graznikh quickly hushed it. The Dark Lord stopped His horse in front of the Officers and adressed – not Dachman, commander of the fortress, but Záhovar.  
”Everything is prepared and in order,” she said as He turned His gaze upon her. He nodded and gave the command to move out.

Graznikh soon found that he was the only orc in the large company. There were not even any uruks, and the Men largely ignored him save for the occasional insult or attempt to bully him into subservience. Graznikh refused to budge for anyone but Záhovar. He had not felt her touch since that night in Thaurband, but he couldn't tell whether it was because she had stopped manipulating him or simply because his discovery had made her more careful. The doubt made him feel empty and betrayed, but he obeyed without hesitation whenever she asked something of him. He noticed that she did not command him to do things other than when other Officers were nearby. _She knows you'll obey anyway, little snaga._ He tried to shut the infuriating voice of self-loathing out.  
One night, he realised that he wasn't the only one the High Officers treated like dirt.  
” You have no authority to refuse me, 'lord' Záhovar,” the Ambassador to the Southern lands said with a smile. ”Hold him!” Záhovar swore as her arms were caught. Graznikh watched as his âmbal was punched in the guts, once, twice, thrice. Then he could not push away her pain anymore, and it made him furious. The red haze descended so fast he barely had time to plan ahead, and he drew his blades and attacked. He stabbed one of the men in the back and broke the other's jaw with a pommel. Then he spun to face the High Officer, fangs bared and growling in fury.

The man stared at him with an incredulous smile. ”How quaint! The pet is defending its master!” Then he flicked his hand. Záhovar grabbed Graznikh from behind and spun to place her body between him and the spell. The blast pushed them several paces along the ground. Her shield held, barely. Graznikh could feel her weaken through the bond. _One more of those and we're done for._ The moment the Ambassador's spell went out she dropped Graznikh as if she had been burned, but the damage was already done. The Southern Ambassador's laughter rang out across the camp, followed by several others. Záhovar straightened up and turned to face him.  
” You truly belong among the rabble, Záhovar,” the Ambassador said, still laughing. ”You should return to the orc barracks. This is no place for you.” With that, he left and Záhovar could turn to leave as well with Graznikh in tow.  
Back in the tent, she spun towards Graznikh with furious eyes. ”Why did you do that?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”'Cause he hurt you.”  
”He would not kill me, and pain is nothing I have not felt before. Why did you interrupt?”  
”I'm not gonna just stand there and watch 'em beat you up!”  
”You made me lose face in front of the entire camp! Defying a higher ranking Officer and accepting the punishment is a show of strength. Defending a snaga from him, no matter how useful, is not!” She turned her back to him and sat down at her desk, effectively ending the argument. Graznikh fumed in silence. _So I'm just a snaga, am I? 'Useful'..? I made ya lose your face, did I? Guess I'll just have to bring it back, then._  
  
The next morning the camp was in an uproar. Záhovar managed to catch one of the Tower servants and interrogate him on what was happening.  
” The Southern Ambassador was found dead in his tent,” the servant said after bowing deeply. ”His body was so mutilated that he was not immediately recognised, and his face... His face was torn off, the skin hung on the pannerpost outside his tent. What is more is – no one heard it happen. Not a sound.” She let the servant go, feeling shocked. Then she slowly returned to the tent to look at Graznikh, who stretched and yawned.  
”Slept like a warg cub in the den,” he said with a grin. ”How 'bout you?” Záhovar felt a chill at seeing his amiable expression.  
”You...”  
Graznikh grew serious as he rose and stopped in front of her. ”I clean up my messes,” he whispered. ”I fucked up for ya, so I fucked back down again. Ya lost face, ya said, so I stole another.” He came closer, devotely brushing her cheek with a finger. ”Take all the credit you want. I'm yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blogurz bagronk agh garzogajolatari – bloody cesspool and cock-swingers  
> Naror, âshuk - not good, alone/lonely  
> Golug – high elf, Noldo  
> Lug Durbatar – literally 'tower ruler', High Officer  
> Darat – give, give up, give in


	5. Illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Dangerous" by Within Temptation/Howard Jones  
> Zàhovar's theme: "Born To Lie" by Mesh

Praktash stretched, wincing as his shoulders cracked loose. The snaga had died some time during the night. It was just as well. It had been fun while it lasted, and Praktash doubted the little orc would have wanted to go on living with the experience anyway. People died in Mordor; that was just the way it was. One of Hîsht's lickspittles nodded to him with a lopsided grin as he went over to the privy.  
”Hungry?”  
”Sure. What's on the menu?”  
Narduf grinned as he passed Praktash a bowl. The garrison in Udûn ate the same grey slop as everywhere else. There might have been a little more meat in today's batch, but it could also just be his imagination. Hîsht came back from the morning inspection as he finished, and they exchanged a few words. Getting Praktash transferred to Udûn had been easy. The uruk had been shirking his primary duty to the Tower for so long that the census office would've happily sent him anywhere he wished just to get him into the military where he was supposed to be. Once in the garrison, Hîsht had made sure to drill him hard to get him in proper shape. It wasn't just for his own sake; she had gotten a few jabs about picking him just for his looks, and that was a sentiment she intended to kill. Praktash had the uruks' natural fighting instincts and was soon a passable warrior. Hîsht made sure not to show any favouritism, giving him the least desirable duties as was befitting someone at the bottom of the pecking order. He didn't seem to mind.

Praktash's face was still too pretty for the army, but Hîsht had been reluctant to mess it up. He had gotten a lot of lip for it from the others and until last night he had simply shrugged it off. Now however, Hîsht was pretty certain no one would ever dare to bring it up again, at least not to his face. When one of the sniffers had kicked his arse and loudly proclaimed that he probably liked it, a light had gone on in Praktash's eyes. He had lifted the snaga by what little hair it had, shoved it against the wall and raped it to death in front of half the garrison while cooing little sweetnesses in its ear. Afterwards, he had dropped it where it fell.  
”And that, my dear fellows, is why my face isn't as messed up as the rest of yours.” The message had been as clear as rainwater.

Keeping track of your position in the pecking order was an important thing to do. Mistakes could be fatal, and if someone else rose too fast they could threaten your own position. But Praktash had made sure to declare that he had no intention or interest in Hîsht's position or anyone else's near the top. Once he had settled in a place high enough not to get bullied but not high enough to have to give orders or carry out officering duties, he was satisfied. Hîsht kept an eye on him nonetheless. He had the brains to question stupid orders, but also the brains to back down when push turned to shove. Still, there was something odd about the uruk that Hîsht hadn't noticed before. He was still his old talkative self, but the grin never reached his ivy green eyes. She had never asked him why he'd suddenly chosen to sign up now after refusing it for years, but she had her suspicions when that cute palefaced guy he'd been living with never showed up alongside him.

A few months after his arrival to Udûn, half the garrison was transferred to the Black Gate. Hîsht and Praktash was among them. The night after their arrival, Praktash stood on top of the giant wall, catching his first glimpse of enemy territory.  
”Doesn't look like much,” he said.  
Hîsht laughed. ”Disappointed?”  
He shrugged. ”I'd kinda hoped for more enemies.”  
”Oh, there are. Not near here, o' course, but follow the cliff here to the left, that leads south and west. Those lands are crawling with tarks. Even further west there are elves too.”  
”So I've been told,” Praktash muttered. Hîsht cocked her head and he tried to grin, but it came off as an odd grimace. Then he stared off into the southwest.  
”That's right,” Hîsht said quietly. ”That's where he came from, isn't it?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash replied. ”He did.”  
He let out a snorting sound and Hîsht quickly glanced about to make sure no one else had heard or seen them. But the night was still and calm, what few guards there were stood far away near the northern end of the gates. She gently patted Praktash's shoulder.  
”Don't worry cub,” she said. ”I've got your back.” Praktash collapsed against the battlement.  
Hîsht had seen the big uruk cry once before. She had found him in the streets of Lugburz, scared out of his wits and with about as much knowledge of the world as a newborn. When he had told her of his experiences in Blog Shakâmb the tears had come. Hîsht hadn't known what to make of it. She still didn't. Orcs didn't cry from emotional distress, and uruks weren't supposed to feel any extreme emotions at all apart from rage and lust. She had figured that the sorceress must've done some permanent damage to his head and had planned on putting him out of his misery. But something had stayed Hîsht's hand.  
  
Orc women were ferociously protective of their cubs. For all their violent nature, no orc with any sense left in its head would deliberately harm a child of their own kind. But the Black Land had changed the natural order of things, shoving the women together in breeding pits to breed an army and using dark magic to twist and change the baby cubs into uruks. What should have taken years to grow and set was completed within months, and the grown Black Uruks were forever changed and set apart from other orcs. Hîsht had been down there a long time. It was no easy thing to have your litter torn from you even as you sweated and roared to push them out one by one, chained to the wall and unable to defend them as your instincts told you to. It hurt deeper than mere physical pain, just as much the first time as it did the three hundredth. And in a small corner of Hîsht's mind, Praktash was the one cub she got back. For all she knew, he could very well be hers for real, and that tiny spark had lit up her mother's instincts.  
”So what happened?” she asked as Praktash wiped his eyes.  
”They took 'im. To the Tower. I guess they had enugh of him messin' with them.”  
”Whaddya mean?” Hîsht asked.  
”There was someone... Someone he came here with. Got caught trying to sneak past and ended up in the dungeons. Not the regular one, the Eye's own private one. And he couldn't let go. It made 'im obsessed. He even broke in there to see her, one last time.”  
”Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? He broke into..?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash sighed. ”I tried to stop him, I really did. Told 'im it was stupid, more than stupid, it'd get him worse than killed. But he wouldn't listen. He got caught of course, but for some reason the Eye let 'im go.”  
”Hold on – your little pale buddy broke into the Eye's personal dungeon, and the Eye let 'im go? Just like that?”  
”No, not before he had his head thoroughly messed up.”  
”Figures. But... 'her'? He had a mate?”  
  
Praktash nodded and swallowed hard. ”That was his âmbal, the one he'd give his life for. I... think he stuck with me 'cause when she died, he had nothing left to live for.” He grimaced, trying to force away more tears. ”We had a good thing going, things were _good._ An' I thought... but then she comes back, just like that, and steals him away again.”  
Hîsht stared at him. ”She came back from the dead?”  
”Sort of. Or I don't know, that's what it looked like. Scars all over like a cage etched into her hide. Eyes just like the Eye, burning blue. I think they turned her into a Top One, or meant to.”  
”Why'd they make an orc into a Top One? You know that doesn't happen.”  
Praktash gave her a mirthless grin. ”Wasn't an orc. T'was a bloody golug.” Seeing Hîsht's face contort with disgust was satisfying.  
”That just ain't right! Elves die when you fuck 'em, everyone knows that!”  
” This one didn't. This one liked it, or so he claimed. Came back beggin' for more and killed her own family when they found out.”  
”Oh, come _on!_ ” Hîsht shot to her feet and grabbed the uruk's ear with an angry look. ”He was bullshitting ya, Praktash! That might be a pretty fantasy in a sick head, but I can't believe you fell for it too! Use that brain o' yours, if ya still got it! _Think!_ There's no fuckin' way a golug would survive gettin' fucked by an orc, gang up with him after the fact and saunter into Lugburz as if the stars were out, then move on to become a High Officer! For fuck's sake that's just _stupid,_ they're the bloody Enemy!!”  
Praktash winced as Hîsht tugged his ear. ”But... Zuzar said-”  
”That mutt wouldn't find its own arsehole if someone pointed it out for 'im” Hîsht growled. ”An' you know wargs follow their riders. You're not that daft, are ya?”  
”I'm gonna lose my ear if ya keep tuggin' it like that!”  
”An' a good reminder it would be, too!” She let it go with a grin and squatted in front of him. ”Now you'll listen to Hîsht – forget the paleface. He was cute, but bonkers. There're more rats on the plain than that one. An' pale skin's bad luck anyway. I know it's hard, but give it time an' you'll soon be laughin' at yerself over the whole matter.”

  
To breathe was pain. To move was agony. The world was foggy and transparent, as if not truly there.  
_WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?_  
Despite having nothing to do with the Ambassador's death, Záhovar had taken full responsibility for Graznikh's transgression. In a way she _was_ responsible; had she executed proper discipline, the situation would never have arisen. As it was, an important piece of the Dark Lord's puzzle had suddenly disappeared. And He was furious. Thin tent walls could not block out curious ears, so the Dark Lord had simply torn Záhovar apart from inside, thrusting both Himself and her into the Wraith-world. A shadow-realm where He was in complete control and she was nothing but a meagre will, defenseless against the Eye.  
_”He treated me like a mere snaga, I would not stand for it any longer! What use am I as an Officer if I cannot defend my position?”_  
THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN YOUR PETTY POWER STRUGGLES! IS THIS HOW YOU REPAY THE BENEVOLENCE I SHOWED BY ALLOWING YOU TO LIVE?  
” _I will-”_ Every word He uttered tore at her self, and she had to pause and focus to keep herself together. _”I will repay it a thousand times over! I will make this worthwhile, I swear it!”_  
INDEED.  His voice was no longer angry, but thoughtful. _AND HOW DO YOU INTEND TO REPAY THIS DEBT?_  
Záhovar could not answer in words, so instead she conjured up an image of what she had planned. The Dark Lord radiated mild interest. _THAT IS... AN INTRIGUING PICTURE. AS WAS THE MANNER IN WHICH HE DIED. THINK YOU YOURSELF CAPABLE?_  
Záhovar nodded, and He let her go. She could not help but let out a gasp of relief as the world turned solid and real around her, although the tent walls seemed to be closing in. As she stepped outside, the Dark Lord stopped her. Many people had found a reason to remain in the vicinity, no doubt hoping for a public execution. Záhovar prouded herself on being able to bow before Him and walk away without shaking.  
  
When He had simply waved His hand in dismissal and no punishment came, people suddenly began tiptoeing around her and showed her respect in a way they had not done before, figuring that a lack of punishment was the same as approval. Graznikh was still treated like shit, but he tried to shrug it off. _I don't need any approval from tarks, anyway. Záhovar on the other hand..._ She had really warmed up to him after his little cloak-and-dagger adventure, and had even agreed to let him sleep closer to her than before. He had eventually managed to sneak into her bed and spoon her a few times. Despite her protests that it would ruin her reputation if they were discovered, she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did and Graznikh assured her that no one could sneak up on them without him noticing. He had watched her tremble in her sleep and sob quietly in her sleep every now and then, and him lying close seemed to calm her during those times. 

After a few weeks' travel, they reached the capital of Khand.  
”Hailed be the King of Arda!” the king exclaimed and bowed deeply as the Dark Lord entered the throne room, followed by the three Officers that should have been four. ”It is an honour and a blessing to house thee, Great Lord.” The Dark Lord gave the king a nod, smiling benevolently. Záhovar glanced around the throne room. Many had gathered from far and wide to catch a glimpse of the Dark Lord. She could recognise Men of Rhûn, Khand, Harad, Númenor and even a few from the distant lands beyond. The reception was brief, for which Záhovar was grateful. She was still not sure if it was wise to leave the unruly orc without supervision, but she would have to let go at some point. He had been tasked with caring for her horse, his warg and bringing her belongings to her quarters, and she dearly hoped that he had not gotten into any fights on the way.

”This is _nice_ ,” Graznikh said as they entered the lavish guest suite that Záhovar had been given. ”So how did ya manage to get me in here? I thought they'd have me sleep in the stables.”  
”I will not part with my bodyguard. And the servants would instigate a rebellion if they were forced to share quarters with an orc. And... you were not trusted to be left alone near any animals.”  
”Right,” he said with a scowl. ”Vicious murderer and rapist an' all that shit.” He licked a corner of his mouth as he eyed the large bed with eagerness. Then he spotted a thin, dirty bedroll in a corner and his face fell. ”They expect me to sleep on _that_?!”  
Záhovar scowled as she saw what he was looking at. ”Get rid of it.” Graznikh merrily grabbed the bedroll and threw it out into the hallway. He also took note on the number of guards out there before closing the door. _Too many. All probably stationed there because of me._ He scowled a little as he removed his armour and clothes for the first time since they left the Tower and hung the swords on a bedpost where he could easily reach them if necessary. Then he threw himself into the soft bed and ground his hips suggestively against the silken sheets with a leer. ”So... Wanna try out our new playground?”  
She gave him a small smile. ”That will have to wait. There are some paperwork that will need to be filled out before the official signing tomorrow, and I fear I will be working late.”  
Graznikh stopped grinding with a disappointed look. ”Hnh... well, I'll be keepin' the bed warm for ya when ya get back.” He sighed as she left. _I've been holdin' back for weeks..._ He relieved some of the tension by jacking off a few times, catching his seed in a towel, and then tried to sleep. When she eventually returned much later, he simply pulled her close and wrapped the blanket around them both. _This is what's important,_ he reminded himself as he drifted back into sleep. _Screw the rest, it'll change._

The next morning, Záhovar awoke early. Graznikh managed to wrestle her down the first time she tried to rise and steal a bit of snuggling before letting her go. Later on, he was sound asleep in the comfortable bed as he heard the door open. A young female servant let out a shrill scream and dropped the bundle of cloth she had been carrying as he snapped up with a growl.  
”Whaddya want?”  
The girl began trembling. ”I.. I...” The next moment, two guards appeared in the doorway.  
”Are you in trouble, child?” one of them asked.  
Graznikh let out a groan. ”It's too early for this shit,” he grumbled into the pillow. As the guards spotted him, they pointed their spears at him.  
”You are not to sully the mistress' bed with your filth!”  
He gave them a lopsided sneer. ”I do whatever th' fuck I want.”  
”You will leave the bed at once! Your place is on the floor.”  
Graznikh began to growl. ”Then call Lord Záhovar back 'ere, ask him in person what he thinks of that. See how happy he'll be about bein' disturbed for a shit thing like this!”  
”I must change the sheets,” the servant girl managed to say. Her eys widened as Graznikh grinned at her.  
”Well, why didn't ya say so? No need to brandish weapons all over th' place, let's be civil.” With that, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. One of the guards made a disgusted sound and the servant girl squeaked and turned her back to avoid witnessing the full frontal horror he gave them. Graznikh stretched leisurely and stepped aside. ”Bed's clear,” he grinned. ”Be my guest.” The girl gingerly walked towards the bed, head turned to avoid the sight of the naked, leering orc.

Graznikh had no real interest in the girl. Tarks had never been more than fleeting playthings to him, and since his arrival in Mordor what little interest he had had quickly turned into hate for all their kind. But the scent of the girl's fear was intoxicating, so he couldn't keep from teasing her a little.  
”Have ya ever seen an orc before?” he asked quietly as he leaned against the bedpost, ignoring the guards. ”Bet ya haven't, we're not really welcome in these parts. Or anywhere else for that matter, for... reasons. So go on, take a good, hard look. Ya never know if you'll ever get a second chance.” He made sure to emphasise the growling sound he made every time he tried to pronounce the Westron 'r' and chuckled at the girl's horrified expression. She changed the sheets with frantic movements but hesitated when proceeding meant having to stand in the corner where Graznikh stood. He grinned and motioned for her to come closer.  
”Don't worry,” he purred. ”I ain't gonna rape ya. As tempting as that is, I'm savin' myself for another.” She looked like she would faint at any moment.  
”Stop it!” one of the guards exclaimed and took a step forward.  
”Ya really think you're a match for me with those pig-stickers?” Graznikh asked in an amiable tone. ”I'd have yer arses in the air in no time. And what's the issue? Ya look like ya could've had an orc for a sire anyway. I bet your mummy liked that big, hard-”  
The guard threw himself at Graznikh with a roar. Záhovar's command had been to not fight, so he simply stepped out of the way. The guard tumbled down onto the floor.  
”Ya done?” Graznikh asked as the humiliated guard got to his feet. ”I've no interest in fightin' _or_ fuckin'. Get done an' get out so I can go back to sleep.”

A few hours later, Graznikh was helping Záhovar adjust her armour in preparation for the grand banquet the king was holding in celebration of the Dark Lord's visit, when the doors opened and four guards, the mistress of the palace servants and the steward entered. He drew his blades and dropped into attack stance in the blink of an eye, and the group stopped short at the sight of the growling battle-ready orc. Záhovar simply glanced over her shoulder briefly and touched the bond. Graznikh relaxed, resheathed the blades and returned to adjusting the armour as if nothing had happened. The tarks stood dumbfounded in the doorway.  
”Ask them what they want,” Záhovar told him.  
”Whaddya want?” he growled.  
The mistress of the servants found her voice first. ”This is the one,” she told the steward. ”He threatened to assault one of my girls and injured the guard who came to her defense! The poor man is limping badly and will need both rest and herbs, as will the girl after such an ordeal!” The steward swallowed hard and bowed to Záhovar. ”There has been-”  
”She heard ya,” Graznikh interrupted. ”I ain't done nuthin'.” The inevitable invasion of his mind felt like having icy water poured into his eyesockets and sent him reeling against the wall. It soon ended and Záhovar turned towards the steward.  
”The girl misunderstood his intentions,” she said calmly to him. He twitched at being spoken to directly by the High Officer. ”This orc is _mine_ , and none of his actions could be performed without my explicit consent. His boundaries may change, but they cannot be transgressed. The girl feared a fantasy that cannot become reality unless I wish it, and the guard injured himself because he lost his head over mere words and lied to you to save his own skin. He attacked my servant and by extension attacked _me_. I will let this pass, this one time. See that it does not happen again.” All this was said with a voice and expression completely devoid of all emotion. She had reached into the Wraith-world as she spoke, turning the room cold and causing the tarks' breath to come out in little white puffs. Graznikh with his higher body temperature was steaming. Záhovar met his eyes briefly, and he nodded as if he had understood what she wanted.  
”Yes Master,” he said with the reverent voice he used while among others and returned to his armour-adjusting task. It was a trick they had decided to use, to pretend that she controlled his mind and could see through his eyes if she wanted. It was tricky at times, but the effect it had on the gullible tarks was hilarious. All six of them scrambled for the door the moment they were dismissed. Graznikh closed the door and turned to face Záhovar, who was laughing silently. There was a sense of elation through the bond that he shared wholeheartedly.  
”Probably thought I'd be alone in here,” he said with a big grin.  
”That is a mistake they will not repeat.” She refastened the armour. ”Why did you scare the servant?”  
”'Cause she woke me up from a really nice dream an' I was feelin' grumpy.” He leered. ”I kinda hope they send her up again. At a time when you're here, too. I'd like the little bint to watch an' learn what fucking an orc's all about.”  
Záhovar gave him a thoughtful smile. ”I could send for her.”  
Graznikh laughed. ”Gur opashat lat! But let's not blow yer cover; ye're supposed to be 'Lord' Záhovar, right?”  
”Alas for such a fate,” Záhovar said with pretended exasperation.  
  
  
The event turned out to be just as dull as Záhovar had feared. The food was decent, but her dinner neighbours largely ignored her and she was not in the mood to begin a conversation herself.  
As the dinner ended, the Dark Lord rose and beckoned for her to follow. He was speaking to a man Záhovar did not recognise, and she followed them into a smaller room. She had to bend her neck backwards to meet the eyes of the man her Master had conversed with. He had ebony skin and his black hair was plaited into fine braids that reached his waist, each one ended with three golden studs, one above the other. The tall man could have looked Praktash straight in the eye but where the uruk was bulky and muscular, this man was almost willowy in comparison. He could easily have been called beautiful had the Dark Lord not been there in all His radiance, and had an air of arrogance about him but kind eyes. The combination made Záhovar wary.  
”Allow me to introduce Jí Indûr, the king of the Kirani realm of Koronande,” He said.  
The man smiled. ”A king without a crown, I am afraid,” he said. ”And thus no king at all in truth. I had heard that a new star had risen in the ranks of the Tower, and I fear the sight makes me glad that I do not dwell there.”  
The smile disappeared from the Dark Lord's face and His eyes darkened.  
Záhovar frowned. ”Why is that?”  
The Kiran smiled sadly. ”For it is clear that, had I dwelt there, I would soon be a hapless slave to such beauty. Alas for such a fate!” He bowed deeply before Záhovar. The smile soon returned to the Dark Lord's face, but Záhovar remained impassive. At her Master's request, she left to call for refreshments and was relieved to do so.

Jí Indûr watched her as she left, and the Dark Lord watched him in turn. He had not expected the Kiran to recognise Záhovar as a woman so fast. But the Kirani had close dealings with the Eastern elves, and as a member of the assembly Jí Indûr had probably encountered them before and was familiar with their androgynous looks. He had hoped to use the elf to ensnare another man, a noble from the northeast who had proved reluctant to fall in line and who was too powerful to be subdued by traditional means, but the king-in-exile's sudden infatuation provided an unexpected opening of a different kind.  
”Your daughter?” Jí indûr asked quietly.  
The Dark Lord nodded slightly and His voice sank to a persuasive whisper. ”I say this in confidence, for few know of her. The truth could be used as a weapon against Me, so she poses as an Officer both for her own safety and to learn the realities of politics. I dare not send her out alone or reveal her identity just yet; Mordor can be a harsh land and many of my Officers cling to their prejudices.”  
”Indeed. A father's worry never ceases, so I have been told.” Indûr glanced in her direction. ”She has the bearings of a queen. It is only to be expected, of course, with an emperor for a father. Whoever marries her will have a valuable ally, I am sure.” The Dark Lord nodded with an expression that Indûr took as a father's reluctance to part with an only child. They changed the topic and were discussing the intricacies of Southern politics as Záhovar returned with a servant holding a tray with drinks, and the Dark Lord beckoned for her to sit with them. Jí Indûr kept giving her small compliments and asked her questions about life in the Tower. They were innocent enough, but his continued interest made her increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually she was allowed to excuse herself and return to her quarters.  
  
Time seemed to fly by. But Graznikh was bored and tried to alleviate it by being an absolute terror to the servants. He was reluctant about going out in the sun, but spent cloudy days entertaining Zuzar and exploring the capital. The city was not planned the way Lugburz was, as soon as one left the palace district it became an absolute maze of streets, side streets and narrow alleys. There was a large market and an inn near one of the city gates, but he also found that there were innumerable little shops, alehouses and other establishments scattered throughout the place. There seemed to be people everywhere and there was a mix of colours and cultures that he had never seen anywhere else. Not all were hostile or disdainful, but the hidden message was clear; Graznikh was alien, he was inhuman and did not belong.

One morning there was a knock on the door. As Graznikh opened, he spotted a young Southron servant holding a large, exotic flower.  
”Whaddya want?” he snarled. The dark-skinned boy looked surprised but not frightened, shaking his head and pointing into the room.  
”Forget it. Whaddya want?” As Záhovar appeared behind him, the boy suddenly lit up and held the flower out to her. Záhovar stared at it as if it was a poisonous snake.  
”What is the meaning of-” she was interrupted as the boy pushed the flower into her hand with a big smile. Graznikh tried to catch the kid but missed. The servant dashed away, laughter ringing through the halls. The guards made no motion to show what they had just witnessed. Graznikh snarled a curse and slammed the door shut.  
”What the everloving fuck was that?”  
”I do not know,” Záhovar said, frowning at the flower in her hand. An image came to her then; a vague, faded memory, as if belonging to someone else. A small bouquet of withered flowers, held under a dark sky but with a sea of light on the horizon. She dropped the flower as if it had burned her. Graznikh picked it up as she turned away.  
”Throw it away?” he asked.  
”Destroy it,” she whispered. He returned it to the floor and proceeded to stomp it into the luxurious carpet.

  
Acceptance came in the most unexpected way imaginable. Graznikh was sauntering down a side-street, his hood up to avoid the scorching sun and chewing on a meat pie he had bought at the market with tokens that Záhovar had given him when he suddenly found his way blocked. The mob turned as one towards him.  
”Your kind are not welcome here!”  
Graznikh groaned. _Not this again._ ”Of course we're not,” he said after shoving the last piece of pie into his mouth. ”But the Eye and the High Officers are, ya really wanna mess with them?”  
”You are nothing but a slave,” another sneered. ”Slaves are expendable and orcs breed like flies. No one will miss you.”  
” Ya wanna take yer chances with that?” Graznikh sneered back, but his insides twisted as footsteps were heard behind him. _Záhovar, I could really use some help here!_  
” We are not orcs, killing innocents in the street,” a voice from behind said. ”You stand accused of raping several women and girls during your stay here. Also of killing three guards and several others who tried to stop you. This is justice!”  
Graznikh turned with bared fangs. ”Those are bloody lies, an' you know it! I never raped- oh, fuck this!” he exclaimed as he saw the man's attire. _One of that imp Dachman's lackeys. This is a trap._ Don't _come Záhovar, it's a trap!_

He threw himself at the man with a roar, breaking his concentration as he began casting. The mob descended upon him like vultures and everything turned into a blood-drenched chaos. Not all of the blood was his enemies', he realised as he managed to break free for a moment. Most of them carried daggers of various kinds and he began to feel dizzy as he broke into a run, thrown knives and other sharp objects whistling past him. His attackers knew the streets and soon he was cornered again. He desperately reached for the red haze, begging for it to come, but it never came. _The bastards probably have a poison that counter berserking,_ he thought, shaking his head to get the cloudy feeling out of it without success. He could feel Záhovar approach, but tried to shut the bond out so that she would not fall into the trap. _I'm sorry âmbal. This is my time, I won't let it become yours as well.  
_ As the mob's battle cries rang out, he prepared to take as many with him as he could. This wouldn't be an easy victory for them. Then he suddenly wasn't alone anymore. In a blur he saw someone descend from a roof, crashing into the mob and sending them flying in all directions. He slumped to his knees and leaned forward, clinging with all his might to consciousness but with little success. The last he heard as he collapsed were the clinking of a chain.

When he came to, he found himself lying in an alcove bed in an unfamiliar room. He shot up only to double over immediately, throwing up into the bucket that someone had thoughtfully placed next to the alcove. His arms shook as he laid back down and he felt dizzy and weak. After swallowing a few times to get the taste of bile out of his mouth, he looked around. The room was frugal, the walls were made of stone and the roof and floor of wooden boards. There were cracks in the rough-hewn wooden door that let in light from a torch outside and the only furniture was a small wooden bench near the left wall. There was a clinking sound from outside the door that echoed in his aching head and he placed a hand over his eyes as light streamed in from outside. Once he heard the door close again, he looked up. The man sitting on the bench had bronze-coloured skin and wore a plain robe made of unbleached hemp with frayed black trimmings. He had a chain around his waist with the Eye cast in rusted iron dangling from it, and a similar chain around his neck. Graznikh had seen the attire before; the blind servants of the Tower's upper floors wore it. Like them, this man was blindfolded and had stitches around his mouth. They did not seem to bother him in the same way though. He nodded in greeting and turned to Graznikh with a small smile.  
”I am glad you are finally awake,” he said with a strong Easterling accent. ”I feared I had come too late, but you are of sturdier make than I first assumed.”  
”Who are you? Where am I?” Graznikh asked weakly.  
”You are in the Temple of the God-King. We are a small assembly of people from varying backgrounds who have sworn our lives and souls in service to the Eye.”  
”Never heard of ya.”  
The man smiled. ”That is not unexpected. Our numbers are still few here, and we prefer to keep a low profile.”  
”Záhovar,” Graznikh whispered, suddenly remembering how the ill-fated battle had ended. He reached out in panic through the bond and breathed a sigh of relief as he was met with reassurance.  
”Your master has been informed of your whereabouts,” the man said. ”Fear not, you are among allies here.”  
He felt his head clear as Záhovar gave him of her strength and he could finally take a better look at the tark who had saved him. He was not old, Graznikh realised, older than twenty but probably no more than twenty-five. He had the scent of fanaticism about him but not insanity. ”So why risk yer life to save me?”  
”As I said, we serve the Eye.” The scent of fanaticism briefly grew stronger. ”And those who serve Him with sacrifice. You are one of the true Children of Darkness, one who embraces the Shadow in a way we Men can barely fathom and only simulate with poor results. That is reason enough to me, but your master is also a new and unexpected pawn on the board, with as of yet unrevealed strengths. The Temple of the God-King would know him better.”  
Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin. ”So I'm a hostage.”  
”Not at all,” the man smiled. ”You are free to go whenever you wish. Though I would recommend that you do not attempt to stand just yet; the poison in still in your blood, though we have halted its progress. It will take a few days to dissipate and during that time, you will feel ill and dizzy.”  
”Right,” Graznikh said with a sigh. _When I get my hands on Dachman, I_ will _carve a blood-eagle in his back._

Záhovar managed to get away from her duties the day after the attack and went into the city to find Graznikh. The messenger from the 'Temple' had provided her with a detailed description of the way, so the house was easily found. There was no outward sign that the two-story building was a temple, run down as it was and located in the scruffier part of the city. Three knocks on the door, then a brief pause followed by a fourth. That was the signal she was to use. A small shutter opened above the door as she knocked.  
”What would the Tower never use?”  
”The useless,” Záhovar answered. The door was unlocked and the messenger let her in, bowing deeply.  
”Welcome, my Lord. My deepest apologies for the delay; we must be careful. Even here and now the Enemy has spies and agents that would seek to harm us.”  
”Apology accepted. I understand the need for discretion.”  
The interior of the house was very different from its outward appearance. While the outside was uncoloured adobe like all the other houses of the district, the inside walls of the main hall were black and the wooden beams painted red. As the messenger-turned-doorguard showed her in, a man who, judging by the deference everyone else showed him, was the high priest of the 'Temple' came down a flight of stairs to greet her.  
”My Lord Záhovar,” he said as he bowed. ”Welcome to the Temple of the God-King. I am Eälaion, caretaker of this humble enclave. It is an honour to have you here. Come, I will show you to your snaga.” A servant carrying a tray followed them as they went down a short corridor to the left, near the back of the main hall. Faint chanting could be heard from above. Another servant opened a door to a cell-like room. Graznikh grinned as he spotted her.  
”Hey master,” he said. ”Sorry 'bout this mess. Looks like I fucked up again.”  
Záhovar waved her hand in a dismissive way. ”Some good may yet come from it.”  
The high priest bowed as she turned to him. ”I shall leave you alone. There will be a servant outside, should you require more refreshments or anything else.”

”I'm kinda loathe to call a tark my 'rescuer',” Graznikh told her after she had been given a chair to sit on next to the alcove. ”But that's the truth of it. If he hadn't shown up back there, I'd be dead.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”I will see to it that he is rewarded accordingly.”  
”This was a setup, y'know,” Graznikh said grimly. ”The leader wore Dachman's signet, I saw it. They'd probably planned for you to show up as well.”  
”It was to be expected,” Záhovar said, ”though I had hoped for him to be a little more direct about it.”  
”Bloody coward,” Graznikh growled.  
”I still have His attention, so Dachman will not dare to attack my person. But he will make sure to whittle my defenses down so that he can arrange an 'accident' once I return alone to Lugburz.”  
Graznikh grunted. ”You could always try to get these Temple people on yer side,” he muttered with a nod towards the door. ”They're fanatics, or at least that Lion fellow is, an' I'm not sure what use they'll be but it can't hurt to have a few more allies. I can't protect you now, not knocked out like this.”  
”I will consider it,” Záhovar said. Graznikh lay quiet for a while before daring to ask the question that burned in his mind.  
”He's not a Tower servant, is he?”  
”No. He may have been, once. The stitches are real, and I suspect that should he lift his blindfold we would find that his eyes are white and unseeing. But he is far too powerful a sorcerer to have gone unnoticed in Lugburz. His name puzzles me as well. 'Eälaion' is elven in origin, but he is clearly from Rhûn or perhaps further east. It cannot be the name he was born with. Perhaps he chose it to sound more Númenorean, although I do not know why a servant of Mordor would choose a name of the Enemy.”  
”He's a good fighter too. He couldn't take you on, but he's good. An undercover enemy?”  
”He could be... But I doubt it. His conviction and devotion to the Eye is real, and the 'God-King' that his temple reveres is obviously our Master. Perhaps they are simply seeking His blessing through a High Officer, to give their religion some credulity.”  
”But you don't think so, do you?”  
”No,” she said. ”I do not.”

The convalescence turned out to not be as bad as Graznikh had feared. The room was dark and cool and the odd, subservient humans kept providing him with some really good meat and even some orcish ale that he had no idea how they had gotten. It was watered down, but still better than regular water or that disgusting sickly sweet wine the Khandians seemed to prefer over proper booze. His rescuer often came by to talk. Graznikh had tried to piss him off or freak him out by mispronouncing his name as 'Lion' and telling some gruesome stories from his past, but Eälaion had only laughed and encouraged him. It was hard to imagine the mild-mannered Rhûnian as a warrior, but the way he moved and handled the staff he always carried told Graznikh that he was one worth keeping an eye on, even though he hid it well. The staff was a nasty thing, odd runes ran down it in three even lines and both ends were adorned with a spiky steel ball. Graznikh had a vague memory of how the 'Lion' had spun it while fighting and in one move had cracked three opponents' skulls open like eggs.

After a few days, Eälaion encouraged him to stand. Swift movements still made him sick, but the more he moved about the easier it got. The young high priest had his weapons and armour returned to him. As he put it on he found it clean and repaired. He met Eälaion's invisible eyes.  
”You were in the Tower once, weren't ya?”  
The high priest nodded. ”I was given in service to the Eye by my parents when I was very young, in payment of a debt they owed the Temple.”  
”But ye're no servant now. Ye're a sorcerer.”  
Eälaion seemed surprised. ”So you know... I take it you are no ordinary snaga then. No, I am a servant no longer. When my capacity for sorcery was discovered, I was sent to study in one of the academies in eastern Rhûn. But when the realm erupted in civil war, my academy was destroyed and the students scattered to the winds. As did I.”  
”And the temple? How does that fit in?”  
Eälaion smiled. ”You may not understand, orc that you are – and I mean no disrespect by that – but faith is important for us 'tarks'. All Men believe in something, be it real or not. Some worship spirits. Some worship stars, or trees. This Temple of the God-King is a wayward servant's attempt to garner support for his Master through that need for faith. It is better to believe in something, or someone, who can truly change our lives and bring us to greatness, rather than having our prayers fall on the deaf, cold ears of the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gur opashat lat – I desire you  
> Blood-eagle – this is an old Norse execution method mentioned in the Icelandic sagas. It was performed by cutting or sawing off the ribs along both sides of the spine, bending them out and tearing the victim's lungs out through the cuts. It was called 'blood-eagle' because the result apparently made the victim look like s/he had the wings of a baby eagle. It seems like a very orcish thing to do.
> 
> Jí indûr, Koronande, Mûmakan and the Kirani culture comes from the Middle-Earth Roleplaying Game.


	6. Obedience Is Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Just leave Us Alone" by Mesh

The flower turned out to be only the first of a number of similar little gifts. Graznikh was livid with frustration as he desperately tried to clear each and every one out, but ultimately failed. He became more and more convinced that this was another setup, aimed at throwing either him or Záhovar or both off balance. _Who the fuck gives flowers and sweets to a High Officer anyway?_  
One afternoon, Záhovar's bed was covered in black and blue rose petals. Graznikh let out a roar and assaulted the bed, clawing at the petals. Záhovar grabbed his shoulder.  
” I will send servants up to take care of this,” she hissed. Graznikh turned as he heard her icy voice.  
”This isn't my fault!”  
”I do not blame you,” she said coolly, ”but I need to vent. As do you, I assume. Let us go to the sparring grounds until this mess is cleaned up.”  
Graznikh nodded. They had not sparred since their last lesson before Záhovar was elevated, and the memory was not entirely pleasant. ”Just... no magic, right?”  
”No magic,” she agreed.

The 'sparring grounds' was a circle of soft earth located in the palace gardens where royalty and visiting nobles could show off their fencing skills. Rain was pouring down as they entered, but Graznikh didn't care. It was a nice change from the usual scorching weather and somehow fitted the turmoil he felt from Záhovar through the bond. He handed her two of the curved Khandian scimitars and began with a few basic drills, just to make sure she hadn't forgotten. Soon they began sparring in earnest and turned the soil beneath their feet into a black, slippery mud.  
Záhovar soon noticed that they had an audience of one. Jí Indûr watched them discreetly from one of the nearby balconies, well away from the rain. Záhovar made no sign that she had seen him but met Graznikh's eyes with an unspoken question as he managed to catch one of her blades and pulled her close.  
”I've seen 'im,” he whispered before letting her go. He made sure to keep a close eye on the surroundings as they continued, cursing over the fact that he couldn't focus entirely on the sparring. Fighting Záhovar was only second best to fucking her, but it was still a very enjoyable experience. He was proud to have taught her this well, even though he suspected that much of her prowess was due to what Whindaër had known. Her body remembered how to fight even though her mind did not. She held her own against him with ease and Graznikh suspected that among all the High Officers, she was the best fighter.  
Two quick hits tore one of the scimitars from his hand. He held against her a little longer, until a painful slap by the flat side hit his wrist and made him drop the other. He fell on his knees in the mud as he felt the cold blade against his neck.  
”You're getting good,” he purred as he looked into Záhovar's eyes. She nodded ever so slightly and handed him her blades hilt-first. Jí Indûr was gone.

As they went back towards Záhovar's room, Graznikh chuckled at the servants' mortified looks. They were both plastered with black mud from the waist down and the rest was soaked from the rain. He could hear his boots squelch with every step. Soon they were stopped by a servant in a white robe.  
”Your bath is ready, my Lord,” he said. ”If you would follow me.”  
Záhovar turned to Graznikh, who shook his head. ”I didn't set this up.”  
”I am beginning to grow tired of these surprises,” she said quietly, but motioned for the servant to lead the way. As the servant opened a door, Graznikh stepped out in front of Záhovar and gave the servant a suspicious glare. ”I'm goin' in first.”  
The large bath was similar to the one Záhovar had in the Tower, but here the walls were covered in white marble and colourful mosaics. There was an alcove with a mattress and another with several bottles and jars in coloured glass. The roof was covered in elaborate paintings and in the middle of it there was a large round window with blue glass inlays. Large blue lotus flowers floated in the water and the air was heavy with incense. Graznikh sneezed. Three servants in similar garb as the one who had led them here stood in wait along the wall. A woman rose from the mattress with an indignant look.  
”This is meant only for Lord Záhovar!”  
Graznikh blew his nose and shook the snot from it. Then he turned towards the woman and bared his fangs. ”Yeah, an' it will be. Get out!” None of the servants made a move until Záhovar entered. They bowed as one upon seeing her. The woman who had tried to tell Graznikh off swept past him, kneeling before Záhovar and opening her robe.  
”Your grace,” she said in a husky voice. ”His Highness has commanded me to teach you the delights of the South, if it pleases you. I am yours to enjoy as you see fit.”  
Graznikh snorted and Záhovar smirked. ”She will stay. The rest of you will return to whatever duties you had before this.”  
  
As the door closed, she beckoned for the woman to rise, then she pushed the open robe off her shoulders with two fingers. Her upper body was naked underneath with fairly large, heavy breasts and she wore loose-fitting trousers made of a semi-transparent fabric that hung low on her wide hips. Graznikh assumed she was supposed to be beautiful by tark standards, but she looked too soft for his taste. He grew increasingly confused as Záhovar slowly paced around her, studying her body. _She's not actually considering it, is she?_  
As he watched her pace, he noticed the familiar sensation of her connection with the Wraith-world. She had used it before to instill terror in him, but it was not aimed at him this time. The scent of fear bloomed on the young woman as Záhovar stopped in front of her. There was a predator's hunger in her eyes and Graznikh could feel himself harden despite the discomfort of his wet and muddy clothes. The woman's voluptuous lips trembled as Záhovar lifted her chin. A dark smile played on her own as she spoke.  
”There is nothing you can teach me. I fear the tastes of Lugburz differ somewhat from what you have been told. However, my poor snaga,” she said softly and met Graznikh's eyes briefly, ”has had a bad time here. He has been absolutely miserable, and I have been meaning to cheer him up. I am glad you volunteered.” With that, she gave the girl a hard shove and sent her flying backwards into Graznikh's open arms. She let out a terrified sob as he ran a finger over one of her breasts. He hadn't cared to trim his claws in a while, which was a good thing now. Záhovar ran her tongue along his ear from the lobe and up along the tapered tip, playing with the iron rings that pierced it until he began purring with need.  
”I want to watch you,” she hissed. ”Do not be gentle.”  
Graznikh growled in reply. He tossed the tark into a corner and stripped, removing his wet leathers with a relieved grunt and heard Záhovar do the same behind him. Muddy water trickled down his chest. The woman backed up against the wall as he approached slowly, savouring her fear and leering as he stroked his dick. Her sickly sweet perfume made him nauseous. She tried to run but he caught her by the hair and bent her down hard over the edge of the mattress in the alcove. Once he had her securely in place, he tore a hole in the back of her trousers.  
”Please,” she gasped. ”Have mercy!”  
Záhovar chuckled and Graznikh gave her a hungry look as he spat in his hand. She leaned against the wall next to the alcove, fingering herself and watching him with half-closed eyes and parted lips. The woman cried out in pain as he entered, rolling his hips to force himself deeper. He moved slowly and added a bit more spit to ease things for himself. Her screams echoed in the large chamber as he began to thrust hard with stabbing movements. He grabbed her hair with a snarl as she tried to bury her face in the mattress.  
”Oh no, you don't,” he growled. ”You'll let my master hear every sob, whimper and scream, or you'll get worse than this once I'm done here!” A punishing thrust forced a shrill scream from her lips, and Záhovar's extatic approval washed over him. Graznikh didn't care to draw things out more than necessary and soon spent himself. The woman whimpered as he withdrew.

Záhovar beckoned to him with a finger and he forced the woman up on her feet.  
”Are you in charge of the palace servants?” she asked. The woman shook her head, weeping silently.  
”Do you know who is?” She nodded.  
”Then you will tell her this; there will be no more surprises like this. I will have nothing brought to my quarters that I did not explicitly ask for. If there is any uncertainty, you will consult me _before_ taking action. This applies to all the servants. If this is not followed, then this,” she gestured towards the mattress which was stained with blood and dark orc semen, ”will be repeated and the one responsible for the transgression will be the subject. Have I made myself clear?” The woman nodded frantically. Záhovar turned away and made a dismissive gesture. Graznikh dragged the crying woman to the door.  
”Thanks for the ride,” he murmured with a leer and licked her ear in front of the mortified guards before throwing her out into the corridor. Then he slammed the door shut and shuddered in revulsion. ”The things you make me do, âmbal,” he muttered as he slid into the water to clean the mud, blood and other fluids off. Záhovar was already in the bath after having removed the flowers from it.  
”You did well.”  
He grunted and looked at his dick. ”That must've been the most unsatisfying fuck I've ever had,” he complained. ”She had no fighting spirit at all!”

  
”I take it this meeting is just for the Top Ones, right?” Graznikh asked later that evening. Záhovar stood next to the bed, eyeing the lavish gown the Dark Lord had given her with reluctance.  
”Yes, or more precisely for our Master and me alone. I do not know why He has sent for me, and asked for me to wear this... thing nonetheless, but I fear you would not be let in even if I brought you.”  
”Thank the Void! Say, am I grounded for the night?”  
”You may leave, but do not stray too far. I cannot say that I will not need you tonight.”  
”What, you think you might get attacked here? That'd be an insane bastard, what with the Eye here in person an' all.” He grinned as he felt her worry through the bond. ”Don't worry, I won't get in trouble again, now that my hackles're up. This place can hardly be more cutthroat than Lugburz.”  
”No,” Záhovar said. ”And I believe most of the throatcutting will be done within the palace walls.” She turned back to the gown, and Graznikh purred softly as she let the robe slide off. She opened a pair of doors on the wall and revealed a huge mirror. As she put the gown on, Graznikh walked up to the mirror. He had never seen his own reflection this clearly before. He stared at his angular, gnarly face. A scar ran down across his right eye, another crossed the left corner of his mouth and a third along his right jawline. He had forgotten how they came to be there. Compared to the High Officers and the tark servants in their proper, clean uniforms, he looked like a monster from the ancient deeps. It made him grin. _Do I really look like that?_

Záhovar appeared next to him, adjusting the gown, and suddenly he had something else to stare at. It was high-necked, but the thin pale silk hugged her body all the way down to her hips, making it look like it had been made especially for her. From her elbows and hips it flared out into wide sleeves and a pleated skirt that had so many gores that it folded even when laid out in a full circle. All edges were trimmed with black velvet. Graznikh remembered the satisfying sound that silk made when torn to pieces and licked his fangs. Záhovar felt his lust through the bond and shook her head.  
”Not now. Perhaps... afterwards.”  
”I'll hold ya to that,” Graznikh whispered. Then he took a closer look at the gown. ”How're you gonna wear your weapons with that?”  
”I will not. Weapons are banned.”  
”What?! Screw that, I won't let ya go prancin' about this place dressed like that without any means of defending yourself!” He deliberately ignored the fact that the place was full of people skilled in sorcery. He took a thin scarf which he tore to strips. Then he lifted her skirt and tied the sheath of her obsidian dagger to her thigh. He finished by carefully cutting a slit in the skirt in such a way that it was hidden by the pleats.  
”There,” he said when he was done. ”It's not much, but better than nothing.”  
Záhovar nodded in thanks, and he simply couldn't keep his hands off her anymore. Her eyes widened as he gently pushed her against the mirror and opened the soft folds between her legs. He let the skirt fall down upon his face as he licked her. His deep rumble vibrated throughout her lower body and she came silently, gasping and pressing a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.  
”Just givin' ya a little something to remember me by,” Graznikh murmured in her ear as she tried to regain her composure. He backed away, giving her one last leer and a wink before adjusting the swords on his back and heading out into the night. Záhovar gave herself one last critical look in the mirror and suppressed a shudder. She donned her formal robe to avoid walking in only the gown through the corridors, feeling naked and vulnerable without armour.

The Dark Lord was waiting for her in the study of the large suite He was occupying. He had exchanged the robe for a formal, almost militaristic coat with buttons down the front and black knee-high boots and shirt underneath.  
”The others have not yet arrived,” He said and beckoned for her to sit. As she obeyed, He looked her over.  
”Are you enjoying your stay here?”  
Záhovar chose her words carefully. ”It has been entertaining.”  
”So I hear. I have also heard of a disturbance at the baths earlier. Some poor servant came out a little worse for wear.”  
”If I have caused more problems...”  
”Nonsense.” His smile widened. ”I do not care what you do with the servants. Kill them if you wish. I am glad to hear that you are capable of proper discipline, when the need arises.” He waved a hand as He sensed her question. ”Ask.”  
”I am curious as to the reason why I was asked to dress in this matter for the meeting. I believed that I was to keep my female gender a secret.”  
”That is mainly to not distract the orcs and to make sure people do not forget your position. The reason for the gown is because I wanted to see how you look in it. And I have a new task for you, apart from the one you offered on the road, where charms such as these will be needed. See it to its end and I will consider your debt paid.”  
”Thy word is Law,” Záhovar said.  
The Dark Lord could barely keep the mirth from His voice as He spoke again. ”You are to pose as My daughter and seduce Jí indûr. He is infatuated with you already and will court you; play coy, hesitate for fear of incurring My wrath but be not altogether resistant. Draw him in until he asks for your hand in marriage. When this is done, you will bring the proposal to Me.”

Graznikh was waiting for her, hiding behind the door and catching her in his arms as she returned.  
”You stink of tark,” he complained as he pulled her close, but frowned when he touched the bond.  
”What's wrong?” he asked as Záhovar slumped down upon the bed with a dismayed expression. She explained the situation to him.  
”No,” he growled.  
”His word is Law,” she whispered. Graznikh bared his fangs, feeling helpless.  
”He'd sell you to a tark like a piece of junk?”  
”They live brief lives; it will be over soon.”  
”I can't be without you for that long!” Graznikh squatted in front of her. ”Marriage for tarks is like slavery; you'd be his plaything, a pretty bauble to put on display, having no say-so in anything!”  
”His word is Law,” she repeated, avoiding his eyes. Graznikh threw himself onto the bed beside her with a defeated groan. ”I should kill him. He can't marry you if he's dead. I'm not serious,” he added as he met Záhovar's wide-eyed stare. ”It's just... the thought of a tark touching you, fucking you...” He growled loudly and hit the bed with a fist. Then he looked at Záhovar. ”You still in the mood?”  
”No.”  
”Me neither.”  
She sighed. ”Let us go to sleep.”  
”Sure.” He stood. ”But first I wanna do something.” He beckoned for her to stand, then he grabbed the neckline of the expensive gown. The silk tore easily with a satisfying sound.

  
Jí Indûr was waiting for her one day when Záhovar returned to her quarters.  
”You seem to have refused my gifts of late,” he said, looking at his nails with a frown. ”Why is that?”  
”The flowers... They were from you?”  
”Yes. But lately the servants have been refusing to bring them to you, claiming you have threatened them with death or worse if they do.”  
”Oh...” Záhovar looked down, pretending to be embarrassed. ”I must apologise. I misunderstood your intentions.”  
Indûr looked at her, anger replaced by worry. ”Have I offended you?”  
”Not at all. It's only... I believed them to be some assassin's ploy. There have already been attempts at my life here, and I fear it made me overly suspicious. I am sorry.”  
Indûr's eyes grew wide as she spoke. ”Assassins... and they would target you?”  
Záhovar nodded with faked apprehension. ”My father's rule is a grave threat to Númenor's dominion in the North, and they would harm him and end the line of succession if they could. It is only to be expected,” she added sadly.  
Indûr nodded gravely. ”Such a heavy burden for such beautiful young shoulders,” he said quietly. ”Will you not let me ease the burden, for a brief time?” He held out his hand with a gentle smile.  
She gave him a bashful glance as she felt the bond grow stronger. ”And... how would you do that?”  
”I would-”

Whatever he planned on saying was interrupted by a roar. In the blink of an eye, Indûr was pinned to the wall by a furious blood-thirsty orc, who held a crude knife at his throat and bared its fangs, dripping slaver onto his fine coat. Indûr stared at it, surprised but not afraid. Záhovar placed a hand on the orc's shoulder.  
”Graznikh, please,” she said quietly. Slowly, slowly, the orc backed down but placed itself between Indûr and her.  
”An... orc chaperone?” Indûr said. ”Far be it from me to question your father on anything, but... I cannot help but wonder at this!”  
”Graznikh is different,” Záhovar said. ”He has been with me for a very long time, and has even been my martial teacher for a brief while. Now he is my bodyguard. He is bound to me by more than my father's command and I consider him completely trustworthy.”  
Indûr watched in amazement as Záhovar petted the hideous creature as one would pet a loyal dog or monkey. The worshipful glance it gave her reaffirmed her words.  
”I... understand. But, should you wish to have a less... physically offensive bodyguard, I am sure my steward could find you one. Why not a eunuch?”  
”An offensive appearance is not necessarily a bad thing,” Záhovar said with a small smile. ”And the day you find a Mannish eunuch with the physical prowess and fighting instincts of a seasoned orc warrior, I shall confess myself deeply impressed.” The orc growled.  
”Point taken,” Indûr said with a smile.

As time passed, Graznikh had the increasing feeling that he would soon explode all over the place. Getting dumped for a tark was one thing, but being forced to play the part of the obedient pet orc while his mate, his âmbal, _his_ woman was courted by another was enough to make him see red and hear fire with every beat of his black, jealous heart. Knowing that her life depended on the courtship's success and on him doing his part was even worse. His only solace was that the bond could not lie; Záhovar hated every moment of it as much as he did. To alleviate some of the frustration and vent his jealousy, he fucked her every single night before they went to sleep. He didn't care if she was tired or angry or not in the mood. He refused to rest until he'd made her come at least once with fingers, tongue or dick and filled her to overflowing with his seed. _Here's one thing you can't take, you bloody tark bastard. No matter what you do, I was here first. It's my cock she'll think about every time. You'll never make her feel like this, 'cause an orc beat ya to it!  
_ He dearly wanted to mark her. She thoroughly enjoyed his roughness, giving back as good as she got. But no matter how he bit and clawed, the wounds on her body healed without a trace. _I can't even knock her up,_ he thought sourly as their breathing slowed one night. _That would've given that blasted southron something to think about, when his pretty little wife dumps a litter of half-orc cubs in his lap._

One evening as Záhovar prepared for bedtime and Graznikh for their usual tumble, there was a knock on the door. As he opened, Indûr's Kiran servant boy stood outside with a small ornate box in his hands. Graznikh grabbed him before he could run and pulled him into the room.  
”What the _fuck_ does he want at this time?!”  
”Wait,” Záhovar said. The boy trembled with fear, but held the box out to her. She took it gingerly but did not open it. ”Let him go, Graznikh.”  
Graznikh growled at the boy a bit longer just for good measure, then threw him back out into the corridor. ”What is that thing?” he snarled.  
Záhovar almost dropped the box as she opened it. Trembling, she put it down on the desk and turned away. Graznikh was there immediately, holding her tight and growling little comforts in her ear. He didn't need to look inside the accursed box to know what was in it.

  
The Dark Lord studied the carved ivory sculpture with a thoughtful look.  
”So you would ask for My daughter's hand in marriage?”  
The Kiran king-in-exile sat on his knees on the floor before him, hands clasped together in a reverent gesture. ”I would, Great Lord.”  
”And does she know?”  
”She does. I sent one of my servants to her with the marriage proposal this very eve. I apologise if I have been too straight-forward. I respect your daughter far too much to force her into marriage against her will.”  
”Indeed... your proposal is interesting, I will admit that. But I hope you do realise that I cannot let her wed a man who has nothing.”  
Jí Indûr nodded. ”Yes, it would be a foolish thing to do and you, Great Lord, are no fool. Could I but reach out and retake the throne that is rightfully mine, I would do so in an instant, in your name. But alas, such is not the case.”  
”Perhaps it could be...”  
Indûr almost looked up from the floor in surprise, but steadied himself. ”You would... aid me in such an undertaking?”  
The Dark Lord beckoned for him to rise and take a seat and began pacing His study. ”My daughter seems very fond of you, and I would hate to break her heart. Yes, I could aid you. Tell me- you have spent much time in the lands of the Mûmakan. How do you find them?”  
”They would not be difficult to sway to your cause, Great Lord,” Indûr said. ”I have been a guest of honour there for many years, and have found many who would wish to serve you. Yet they dare not, for fear of Númenor's growing power and turning Koronande hostile towards them.”  
The Dark Lord nodded. ”Do you think you could tip the scales in a favourable direction?”  
”Most definitely. If the Mûmakan learn that the northern lands stand with them...”  
”They do. So I will ask this of you, in return for My daughter''s hand: bring the Mûmakan under My banner. Do this, and you shall marry My daughter.”  
Jí Indûr stood and bowed deeply with his hand on his heart. You have my word, Great Lord.”

The betrothal ceremony was held the next evening. For the safety of everyone involved, they had chosen to keep it small and private. Záhovar was given a necklace by Kirani tradition, made from a dark seashell that seemed to shimmer and swirl with different hues of blue, green and purple as she turned it in her hand. Instead of a necklace, Jí Indûr was given a ring of silver with a jet-black stone.  
”This is no ordinary ring,” the Dark Lord told him. ”And it is more than just a token of your betrothal. It has power, great power, and I do not part with it light-heartedly, but I believe you are worthy of carrying a gift such as this. It will aid you in swaying Men's hearts; you will find that they listen more carefully to your words, follow you more gladly and commit great deeds under your command that they scarcely believed themselves capable of before. Use it well and with care; it is the only one of its kind.”  
”I will carry it close always,” Jí Indûr promised. He turned to Záhovar and took her hands. ”And you will be in my heart, always, until we meet again,” he said.  
Záhovar returned his smile. ”And you in mine. Good luck to you.”


	7. Where is The warg And Its Rider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Let Us burn" by Within Temptation

A year later, Záhovar was called into the Dark Lord's study once again.  
”It would seem that your young 'suitor' has succeeded after all,” He said and smiled at Záhovar's sudden paralyzation. ”Mûmakan erupted in a civil war but three months ago, and he now sits upon the throne. They have even named him Jí Amaav, claiming that he is some 'God-King' out of prophecy. I must say, I am slightly impressed. Ah, the things love can make us do!” He laughed darkly.  
”I am glad to hear it,” Záhovar said a little too fast. ”May I... leave?”  
”You may not. I am not done with you yet.” He beckoned and as she stepped closer, He took a small brooch in the shape of the Eye from the table. The stone looked like amber, but was cold to the touch. ”I will need to make sure that this works the way it is supposed to do,” he said as He fastened it to the tunic she wore underneath her armour. ”It is imperative that some part of it touches your skin, and you must wear this with your wedding gown or whatever it is the Kirani use for that purpose. Now, be still.”  
The Dark Lord held His ring-hand out towards her, and the brooch suddenly felt as if it had erupted in flames. Záhovar steeled herself against the pain, but it passed swiftly. He frowned.  
”Reach for the Unseen,” He commanded. As she did so, He held His hand out again and now the invisible flames engulfed her entirely. He let go with a pleased nod.  
”On the wedding night, when you are alone with him in the bedroom, you will do as you have done now. Reach for the Unseen with the brooch against your skin. I shall take over from there.”  
”Thy Word is Law,” Záhovar said with a bow. As she turned to leave, He stopped her with a word.  
”You will no longer need the orc to pose as your chaperone. Send it back to Lugburz. I will provide more suitable servants for your journey south.”  
”...Yes, Master.”  
”Dismissed.”

One of the Top Ones was waiting for Graznikh when he returned that morning, barring his way at the main gate. ”You are no longer to 'grace' these halls with your presence,” he was told. ”Your belongings have been relocated to your warg's stable, where you will sleep from now on until you recieve new orders.”  
”I only take orders from Lord Záhovar,” Graznikh sneered. As he moved to pass the Top One, the man snapped his fingers and the air disappeared from his lungs.  
”No, you do not,” the Officer said as Graznikh fell to his knees. ”Your 'master' will soon leave, never to return. You have proven useful, so I will be your master from now on. Snagas do not have the luxury of choice, so I suggest you fall in line, unless you wish this to be repeated.”  
The air returned and Graznikh drew a deep, ragged breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Officer had already left and the gate guards began to close in with their weapons drawn. Graznikh cursed and backed out. _This isn't over!_  
He slept in Zuzar's stable that day. As night fell he moved out, pretending to do another round of the city. A few blocks away he fell into the shadows of an alley, climbed and crouched low on a small balcony above. The men who were no doubt ordered to stalk him ran by beneath and he watched them with a grim smirk.   
”Send my thanks to the Eye when ya see 'im,” he growled as he landed behind them with blades drawn. ”I've been lustin' for the taste of tark blood for too long.”  
  
His inexperienced followers had clearly not expected to be attacked, for they had no armour and were armed with only daggers. The result was a noisy slaughter that sprayed the walls of the narrow alley with blood as Graznikh tore them to shreds with wanton abandon. As the last tark's cry for mercy was cut short, Graznikh dropped the remains and wiped his swords on an embroidered tunic before moving on to do what he had planned before getting sidetracked. Funny enough, the capital of Khand was not built to withstand a siege. The houses were built close to the palace wall. Not close or high enough for a tark assassin to jump and scale it, but close enough for a determined orc. He took his gloves off and stuck them in his belt before taking the jump, grabbing the weatherworn battlement with both hands and placing his feet against the wall. He waited for a while to make sure there were no guards before leaping up onto the wall and then dropping down into the gardens. The sky was cloudy, making the night a dark one. All the guards carried torches that made them easy to spot as he skulked towards the palace wall beneath Záhovar's quarters. Large vines with fragrant flowers climbed the palace wall, Graznikh had never tested their strength, but he had chopped away enough that it would be difficult to reach the balcony by climbing them and knew that their wood was tough. Now he looked around, making sure the guards were far away before testing the vines. He climbed slowly, testing each new vine before leaning on it. Two stories up, the vine he stood on broke with a snap. He flailed wildly and managed to break his fall briefly before losing his grip. _Don't scream!_ He landed with a dull thud on the black soil.  
Nothing seemed to be broken, so he rolled to his feet, swiftly checking for unwanted attention. When none came, he began climbing again. This time the vines held and he climbed until he was level with the balcony. _So, now what?_ There were no vines left anywhere near it. He eyed the balcony, so close and yet so far away. He couldn't call out, that might alert the guards and get them both in trouble. Soon he realised that his only choice would be to jump. He gulped and looked down at the ground five stories below him. All was quiet, even the guards' torches seemed to have disappeared for the time being. _If I miss, I'm dead. There's no Zuzar to catch me this time if I fall._  
He closed his eyes, steeling his mind and body. _The things you make me do, my âmbal... But I'm not turning back now._  
He didn't think as he jumped. There was nothing but him, the air and his goal. The next moment he felt cold stone underneath his hands as his body swung underneath the balcony. It was entirely made of polished marble, making it very slippery. He held on with cramping hands, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he struggled to get a better grip. Finally he managed to fling an arm around one of the bannister posts. A few more desperate twists and kicks and he fell onto his back on the balcony, gasping from the adrenaline rush. The thought of how he was supposed to get back down struck him, but he pushed it away. _One thing at a time. Záhovar first, then I can worry 'bout the rest._  
Záhovar sat at her desk as he peered in. She seemed to be reading something to herself, her lips moving a little as her eyes darted across the parchment. Graznikh drank in the sight for a moment before hiding. He gently tugged the bond, cursing silently for not remembering it earlier, and a moment later the glass doors opened. Soon he had her caught in his arms. She met his eyes with a stern, angry look.  
”Where have you been?” she whispered. Her expression did not change as he grinned widely at her.  
”So you _do_ care about me!”  
”Where have you been?” she repeated.  
”Got delayed,” Graznikh growled. ”That Top One, don't know his name – big guy, always sneering, the one with no lips – he wouldn't let me in. Said you had left and that he was my new master, had me sleep in the stables with Zuzar. But I felt ya through the bond, so I knew ya weren't gone.” He brushed the corner of her mouth with a callous thumb. ”When I told I only took orders from you an' tried to force my way in, he threw a spell at me.”  
”Why did you not send for me?”  
”I tried! But they just laughed at me. Who cares what an orc wants, right?”  
”I see...” Záhovar's face became cold and distant. Graznikh felt an odd sensation through the bond, like a gathering storm.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and Graznikh hid behind Záhovar as she turned towards it. It opened before she had time to speak and the High Officer who had tried to claim Graznikh swept in. He stopped as he spotted the orc.  
” Interesting. It would seem some discipline is in order.” He used the same spell as the Ambassador had, but this time Záhovar shielded them from it with ease. _She's grown stronger,_ Graznikh thought. _When did that happen?_ The other Officer frowned as she held a hand out to the side while moving closer. Graznikh dropped, rolled and grabbed her glaive, throwing it into her hand. She brought it down hard against the Officer but he caught it. She pulled, throwing him off balance and used his weight as leverage as she spun and kicked. A steelshod heel hit the High Officer straight in the face and Graznikh heard a crunching sound as his jaw shattered. As the man went down, Záhovar kicked him over and rested the tip of the glaive against his throat. He coughed weakly. The movement caused a trickle of blood to slide down his neck.  
”You have no authority to command my snagas,” she hissed. ”And you have no authority to discipline _me._ I take orders from the Eye and none other.” The amber brooch at her neck lit up as she reached for the Wraith-world and as she did so, His presence descended upon them. The sensation made Graznikh double over. The High Officer on the floor no doubt saw or felt it as well, for his eyes went wide and filled with terror. Záhovar trembled as some silent discussion happened, then she whispered ”Expended...” with a voice that was not her own and brought the glaive down through her rival's throat.  
  
As everything went back to normal, she staggered back and fell. Graznikh caught her just before she collapsed on the floor and carried her to the bed.  
”You must leave,” she said weakly. ”You must,” she repeated as he began to shake his head. ”There is a task I must finish, and I cannot allow you to follow me. If I do not do this on my own, i will be... expended... as well. Return to Lugburz. I will give you full access to my quarters and the authority to speak and act in my name until I return.”  
”Can you promise that you _will_ return?” Graznikh whispered.  
” No,” she replied after a moment's silence.  
He gave her a lopsided grin. ”And you do, ya won't be the same, will ya?”  
She frowned. ”Why do you speak like that?”  
”I don't know, it just... I don't know.” He shrugged with a sigh. ”Alright, I'll go. I'm only doin' it 'cause you're tellin' me to.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. ”Âmbal... I'm gonna miss ya.”  
Surprisingly, she placed her hands on his scarred cheeks. ”I will miss you, too. Go, find your friend. If I do return, I would like to meet him.”  
  
  
Graznikh licked the meat juice off his fingers as he entered the palace grounds for the last time. He was going to miss those meat pies. And the servants too, obnoxious though they were. In the last few months, they had finally begun to show him proper respect. It had been worth the years of disciplining. _No doubt they're happy to see me leave, same as everyone else in this Eye-blinded bagronk of a city._ The palace itself was barred to him for real now, so he had left his belongings in the stable shack where Zuzar stayed. The warg greeted him with its usual enthusiasm, but it did little to lighten him up.  
” Well buddy, time to hit the road again,” he said as he scratched a shaggy warg ear. ”Just you an' me, like back in the old days.” _Only I'm going away from my âmbal now, not to her._ He choked back the intense feeling of loss that threatened to overwhelm him and growled to himself as he tightened the saddle cinch and made sure the saddle bags and water skins were properly fastened. _I shouldn't lay claim,_ he thought bitterly as he mounted. _But why the_ fuck _does it have to hurt so much?_  
Zuzar, sensing its master's foul mood, prowled through the streets and made people jump out of the way. Graznikh dared one last glance at the palace as he reached the city gate. It was too far away to see properly, but he half imagined that he could see Záhovar, standing on one of the upper balconies and watching him leave. _Skai..._  
  
Wanting to put as much ground as possible between himself and the accursed city before the sun rose, he urged Zuzar into a run. They followed the road but kept off it where the surrounding terrain allowed it, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. A warg could not outrun a horse, but the scent of the large predator made even the most stoic of them panic, so Graznikh did not think the tark raiders that haunted the hills of eastern Khand would attack him. Orcs rarely had anything worth stealing anyway.  
They had much ground to cover. Reaching the neighbour capital from Lugburz had taken many weeks, but then they had been travelling at a leisurely pace. Graznikh and Zuzar held a tempo more to their own taste, but without exhausting themselves.  
Graznikh tried to savour his newfound freedom. Every now and then they stopped, finding some little cave or shaded nook to sleep in during the long hours of sunlight and taking a few nights to hunt and rest. Zuzar found a new, unfamiliar scent one night that led to a hole in the ground. Thinking it was a lizard similar to those found in Gorgoroth, they applied their usual strategy of digging and throwing knives. As Zuzar dug, there was a loud squeal from the burrow and the warg was suddenly pelted by a swarm of thin, sharp needles. Zuzar leapt back, howling in pain. Graznikh returned the fire with rocks and rolled out of the way when another squeal was followed by more needles. Eventually, one of his rocks struck home. There was a loud yelp followed by silence. Making sure whatever was down there was thoroughly dead, he turned to Zuzar, who was trying to pull the little quills out of its snout without success.  
”They're barbed,” Graznikh said and cursed. ”Let's hope they're not poisoned too.” Getting the quills out by twisting and bending them to get the barbs loose was incredibly painful, but Zuzar let him do it. Graznikh winced as he tended to the miserable warg's bleeding snout.  
”I'm sorry buddy, this is all my fault. I shoulda checked it out better before divin' in.” He grinned a little as he received a forgiving lick. ”Let's see what we downed, eh?”

The creature was unlike anything Graznikh had ever seen. It was big as a hog and had a similar, flat snout. But two of its lower front teeth were also flat, much larger than usual and stood straight out. It looked like it had a shovel in its mouth. _Probably uses 'em to dig,_ he thought. The creature's hind legs were covered by the thin quills it had fired at them. They came loose with ease as Graznikh pulled at them. _So it... kicks? It squeals like that and kicks backwards, hurling them off? That's a pretty awesome defense._ Zuzar placed a large paw on his back, looking at him with expectation.  
”Alright, sorry for forgettin' the most important part.” A few quick cuts and the soft skin of the creature's belly sliced open. Its hide almost hung loose on its body, so Graznikh skinned it with ease.  
”Doesn't smell too bad,” he commented as he sniffed the meat.  
”Wuf,” Zuzar agreed.

The meat _was_ good, but Graznikh and Zuzar made a silent agreement to leave the 'quillpigs' well enough alone in the future. There had to be easier prey around, preferably prey that didn't fight back by shooting things at them. They found no deer in the hills, no wild goats or sheep, but there were small willowy beasts with thin legs and long, lyre-shaped horns that bounced and leapt as they ran. After a few wild but unsuccessful chases, Graznikh found himself wishing he had bought a bow and quiver at the market when he'd had the chance. He hadn't used a bow in years and he wasn't sure he could even hit the lightning-fast little beasts, but having one meant not having to risk losing a blade if his throws hit but did not kill.

As they reached the northern borderlands, the terrain steadily became rougher. The wide swath of grassland between the southern edge of Mordor's Outer Fence and the Spine was an ancient crater that had once been a lava lake. Now it was the only way past both mountain ranges where wagons could travel, and so it saw many travellers going in all directions. Thanks to Lake Nûrad in the east, it was also the last place where one could find water before reaching southern Khand. Thus it was also extremely dangerous, robbers and raiders had camps all around it and the East Harad Road cut through it in an almost straight line.  
Zuzar sniffed the air warily as they trotted down the wide road carved out of the volcanic rock. ”Tark,” it growled and Graznikh nodded. They had been followed for quite some time, but he had not been able to spot the follower for long enough to tell who or what it was. Zuzar had confirmed his suspicions. ”Raiders,” he growled. ”Go!” As they sped out on the plain, Graznikh spotted his pursuers. He counted to four, outnumbering the warg and rider enough to risk a fight. Arrows began whistling past, but fell low. _They're aimin' for Zuzar!_  
They were cornered near the northern end of the crater. Five riders, clothed in the garb of tribes from northern Harad pointed their spears and arrows towards him.  
”Lord Dachman sends his regards,” one of them said proudly.  
”He still doesn't dare to stick his nose out, does he?” Graznikh sneered. ”Still too busy writin' poetry rather than actually furthering our Master's goals?”  
”He has not forgotten the glory you stole from him by eloping with the elf he would have gifted to the Eye. Your head will give us a handsome reward when we bring it to him,” the man spat. Graznikh was about to speak when one of the others lifted a bow and shot Zuzar in the neck. He threw Graznikh off with a howl, and Graznikh took the opportunity to draw his swords and cut the tendons on one of the horses. The tarks shouted curses, frantically trying to hit the berserking orc while maneuvering their frightened horses. A second horse got an arrow in its gut as Graznikh managed to dodge it at the last moment, crushing its rider as it fell. Zuzar shot up and locked its fangs around the third horse's neck, pulling it down even as the warg itself fell. Graznikh cut the throat of the first rider and went for the third as the man stabbed Zuzar repeatedly with a curved knife. The fourth rider bolted, but Graznikh's knife hit him in the back and he fell off the panicking horse.  
  
As the last attacker fell, new battle cries were heard. Fifteen riders charged across the plain, eager to avenge their fallen comrades. A cloud of arrows whizzed past, bringing all but two of the riders and their horses down in one shot. Graznikh spun to stare at the cliffs but could se no one. The two riders who suddenly found themselves alone turned their horses around and fled in the opposite direction. Stray arrows fell after them, but none found their marks. The battle was over in mere minutes.  
A Man wearing similar garb as the 'Lion' had worn stepped down from the cliffs. With a reverent motion to Graznikh as he passed, he bowed deeply before Zuzar, quietly chanting in a foreign yet strangely familiar tongue. The horse with the cut front legs screamed and kicked up little clouds of dust on the ground. Somehow it wove together with the priest's chant, becoming a fitting funeral song. Graznikh paid it no heed as he knelt next to his dead warg, digging his fingers into its bloody fur.  
”Don't worry li'l buddy, it's alright,” he whispered, burying his face into Zuzar's still warm neck. ”You've been so brave. You'll be with yer mommy and yer littermates soon. Can ya see them? They're... they're waitin' for ya...” The late watches gave way to dawn, accompanied by the soft chanting and the echoing howls of a grieving, lonely orc.

  
The royal wedding was an excessive display of wealth. There were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of witnesses as the king of Mûmakan welcomed his northern bride at the docks and walked in a grand procession to the palace. The ceremony itself was almost simple in comparison. The necklace of betrothal was replaced by lavish collars of gold, silver, rare gems and coloured mother-of-pearl.  
”Are you frightened?” Jí Indûr whispered to her as he placed his hands on her cheeks and leaned in to kiss her.  
”No,” Záhovar replied with a smile. ”I have been looking forward to this.”

A few hours later, they found themselves alone in the royal bedroom. Indûr seemed almost nervous as he closed the door. ”The celebration will go on without us,” he whispered. Záhovar frowned. Standing in front of the torch like this, he seemed almost... transparent. She reached for the Wraith-world, and a thin white mist suddenly swirled around the tall Kiran.  
”I do not intimidate you, I hope?” he asked as he noticed her expression.  
”No, you do not.”  
He nodded, the smile disappearing from his lips. ”You... are not a virgin, are you?”  
Záhovar smiled a little. ”Did you expect one?”  
”No, I... had my suspicions.” He scowled. ”The orc... He is, or was..?”  
”Yes.” Záhovar gasped slightly as she felt the Dark Lord reach out for her, _into_ her, through the Wraith-world. She felt her own existence pushed aside, as a parent might push a persistent child out of the way. Jí Indûr must have seen this, bound to the world of the Unseen as he now was, for he staggered back.  
  
As the Dark Lord took over, Záhovar realised that she had never known true pain. Every opening in her body blistered and seared, flames licked the inside of her mouth as His fiery spirit possessed a body not created nor prepared to accommodate it. Her blood boiled, spilling forth from her nails and dripping on the floor as He reached out with her too-small arms towards the terrified king. She could feel her palms blacken and the skin crack. Indûr's arm moved against his will, raising itself towards Him and he screamed as the Dark Lord plucked the Ring of Power from it. Indûr drew a hoarse, ragged breath that never reached his lungs. He bent and fell, spasming and cramping, the hammering of his heels against the carpet growing fainter as everything he was, could be and had been was drawn into the Unseen. Záhovar fell as well as the Dark Lord finally let go of her.

First, there was pain. Second, there was darkness. On the third, she finally managed to open her eyes. The lids were glued together by dried blood, and she felt it trickle down her face as she rubbed them with her scorched hands. _I survived..?_ As her vision cleared, she looked up. The newly formed wraith watched her with a gaze as impassive as her own. Its looks were those of the Man it had once been. But while the Man had been handsome, there was now an otherworldly beauty to those Kirani features. Skin shimmered like dark, stained silver, white hair spilled in a cascade of plaits down the wraith's back, each ending in three studs of polished iron. Its eyes that has once been a hazel brown colour were now completely black, with red dots where the pupils had once been. As the wraith opened its mouth to speak, its voice was little more than a hiss with a screeching note to it. _”It has been repaid.”_  
Záhovar nodded, trying to ignore the pain it brought. ”His word is Law,” she managed to whisper in the formal Black Speech. _I cannot survive this,_ she thought. _My body is too damaged. A last sacrifice, then..._ The wraith suddenly knelt beside her, taking her hands in its own. A spike of pure cold shot up along her arms as it touched her, but the cold numbed the pain and eased the burning.  
_”Thou cannot die from this,”_ it hissed. _”He will not allow it. Thou art to return to Lugburz, and there take up a new duty.”_  
Záhovar sighed. His word was Law. There was no escape unless He allowed it. Slowly, she managed to stand, her joints cracking and creaking as she did so. It got easier as she moved around a little. The Dark Lord had left instructions before He receded from her. She pulled out a hidden box from beneath the bed, and there she found her armour as well as the equipment the wraith would need. The wraith stood still, compliant, as she placed the black hooded robe that would give it form upon its invisible shoulders. A sword belt made of black leather held the robe in place, as did a clasp in the shape of the Eye, cast in iron, at the neck. A long sword and a dagger with an enchanted edge hung in scabbards from the belt. Black etched steel gauntlets and greaves gave shape to its hands and feet. As she donned her own armour, the wraith slowly walked here and there with floating movements. _”A ship is awaiting thee in the harbour.”_

  
Graznikh kept going, though he didn't know why. After burning Zuzar, butchering the horses for rations and tending to the wounds he hadn't even noticed while receiving them, the priest and his strange band had led him out of the volcanic maze that surrounded the crater. The priest had almost begged his forgiveness for arriving too late to save his warg and had offered to die for the failure. But Graznikh had had enough of death and pointed out that he was more useful alive.  
”Dying's just an easy way out, one best left for enemies and those too cowardly to pick a side. The rest of us better fight, or His lash'll do it for us.” These words had apperntly shamed the priest, for the man grovelled even worse afterwards. He even offered to have his 'acolytes' escort Graznikh back to the 'Holy Land', but Graznikh had lied that he had a band waiting for him on the border and it wasn't far. The strange tarks freaked him out with their reverent behaviour and constant bowing, calling him 'True Child of Darkness' and treating him like he was a High Officer himself.  
  
And so he kept going on foot. He walked, and as he walked, he could not keep the thoughts at bay.  
_What am I doing wrong?_ _I see others lose everything and laugh about it. I see people killing their buddies over some bauble and not giving a shit about it afterwards. Burnin', lootin', rapin', killin'. That used to be it. That's_ supposed _to be it. So why can't I do it? Why do I have to care so bloody much, hurt so much every time I lose out?_  
Soon, the Outer Fence towered over him on his left as he reached the border of southern Mordor.  
_Tarnakh tried to fix it, I guess. That's why he pushed me so hard. I didn't get it, back then. Whin... She never tried to push. She just accepted whatever weirdness I brought on her. She even forgave me for rapin' her. Skai... I didn't deserve that. I wish she would've yelled at me or hated me instead._  
The nights passed, and the land slowly changed from green to brown and on to grey. Graznikh walked, not caring to see where so he never noticed exactly where he took a wrong turn.  
_'Give it time', she said. Time for what? 'Cause it was her speakin', I'm sure of it. Could she still be in there somewhere? Those marks on her body... like a cage. What if... it_ is _a cage? What if Záhovar's simply the only part of Whin that's let out past the bars? She was fadin' when she entered the Tower, but now the bond's as strong as ever. I've only felt it fail once, that first time when I made her remember. So... memories bring Whin back, and with her, the fading?_ He stopped and stared at nothing in particular as Whindaër's voice echoed in his mind.  
” _I simply cannot help but wonder... Had I had the same upbringing, faced the same trials and the same mistrust and hatred... would I have become more like you? Would I have made the same choices?”_ _Of_ course _she'd be more like me if she had no memory of anything save Lugburz! He stopped the fading. He found a way! And I've been tryin' to screw it up all this time because I was too stupid to get it._  
He looked up as he reached a flight of stairs, leading up into the mountains. _I... don't remember this place. Great, I'm lost._ As he looked around, he could see the light of the burning mountain beyond the black peaks. _At least I'm goin' in the right direction._ The stairs looked well-travelled, so he decided to take his chances with them.

  
The long journey by sea gave Záhovar time to rest and heal. It also gave her time to realise how extraordinarily seasick the ship's constant rocking made her. Although she did not vomit, it kept her in a dizzy, miserable state that only became worse with the sight of food. One of the shipmates had somehow managed to procure a flask of ghâshpau during a stop in an obscure little harbour along the Harad coast and offered it to her in the name of the Eye. She had paid him handsomely for it as the brown, oily liquid did seem to have a steadying effect on her insides and nerves. At first she had found the taste and appearance ghastly, but it slowly grew on her. _I shall have to ask Graznikh to find a steady supply of it once I am back home,_ she thought and remembered that the 'buddy' he had mentioned used to make it.  
Eventually she was strong enough to make her way up on deck, where the shipmates greeted her with clumsy bows. She nodded in acknowledgement of their deference and proceeded to watch the sea.

The Sea of Helegaer was a vast body of water that stretched all the way into the Uttermost West. Now that they were out on open sea the waves rose and fell like hills of water, lifting the ship hundreds of feet into the air with each crest. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Once, the lookout spotted Númenorean warships on the horizon but they paid the small ship no heed, instead moving swiftly south. One night a mighty thunderstorm split the sky with lightning and the next morning the sky overhead was dark as night, but in the east the Sun rose below the clouds, colouring them a deep crimson and dappling the sea with light. There was a strange familiarity about the scene that for some reason made her think of Graznikh. _What is it that links the two together like this? Have I seen him like this, once? A shadowy sky, but with light on the horizon..?_ She tried to remember, but the more she focused on the feeling the more it slipped out of view. As she tried to follow it, she hit a wall inside for the first time. A black, slick wall, holding and keeping her from something, but what? _So he was right. There_ was _something before. Something that is not gone, only forgotten. Graznikh... Who was I? Who_ am _I?_  
  
The uneasiness followed her as she returned to her quarters to sleep. With it came dreams unbidden. _A knife in the dark, splitting her in two. EXPENDED, the Dark Lord's voice echoed as one half turned black as the soot from Orodruin. She screamed with two voices, and neither was her own. ”You cannot die,” Jí indûr's wraith whispered as it kissed her. ”Not unless He allows it.” She screamed again, this time with the voice of the Unseen as Indûr's face changed into Graznikh's and the bond sprung to life, searing Light flooding her vision._ She shot up, gasping as she reached for the ghâshpau flask.  
As she sat on her cot, sipping the drink with shaking hands, the ship's captain knocked on the door.  
”We have passed the port of Umbar, my Lord,” he said after she had called him in. ”It is an enemy port, so we will not moor there. An escort has been arranged for you and is waiting on the shore near the mouth of the river Harnen.”  
  
The man leading the escort was clad in the garb of a High Officer. It made Záhovar wary, but the man bowed deeply as she left the boat and approached him.  
”I greet thee, my Lord. I believe we have met before, although you may not remember it. I am Agannâlô.”  
”Lord Agannâlô then, I presume.”  
Agannâlô smiled. ”Yes, I fear I am not entirely comfortable with the title yet. If the things I have heard are true, then I have you to thank for the vacancy that made my elevation possible.”  
”Indeed?” Záhovar paused as she mounted the horse he presented to her. ”And who brought these news to you?”  
”A common friend I believe, or at least a common ally. Eälaion spoke well of you and your companion, something he rarely does so freely. I believe your actions have made quite an impression on him.”  
She nodded absently as Agannâlô's men unloaded her belongings and strapped them to the pack saddles. ”So he contacted you when you were elevated?”  
”Oh no, I have known him for years. He was the one who suggested that I join the service of the Tower, in fact.” He smiled at the memory as they began moving, and began explaining at Záhovar's request. ”I was a disillusioned young man at a tavern in Rhûn when he first approached me. I was the fifth son of an esteemed merchant and there was no future to be had in Númenor, so I left for the mainland. My father secured me a position in the governance of one of the Harad provinces, but I had... disagreements... with the governor over how to best run my office. So I had to leave in a hurry, eventually ending up in Rhûn. The Temple took me in and I spent years as an acolyte before finally swearing allegiance to the Tower. Looking back, it is probably the best choice I could have made.”  
”You said earlier that we have met before, though I have no memory of it. Would you care to refresh it for me?”  
”Of course,” Agannâlô said. ”When I first heard of you, I was told that you were a warrior of great renown. We were at war with the elves west of the Misty Mountains at the time, and word of your deeds had reached our Master's ears. From what I heard, He was impressed by what the witnesses described. I was sent out with a small company to escort and protect you, much as I do now, should you wish to accept our Master's offer and join Him. The same offer was extended to your orc companion, though he misunderstood our intentions as you were separated at the time. I am glad that he eventually found his way to you again on his own. You accepted the offer, and I brought you to the Tower. The rest you know better than me.”  
  
  
The stairs led past the fortress of Blog Shakâmb, but Graznikh had no intention of stopping there unless he had to. As he reached the top of the stairs, he discovered how the place had gotten its name.  
The entire cliff whereupon the ancient fortress stood was one giant lump of iron. The ore was too crude and polluted to be worth smelting, so no mines had ever been established there. There were several holes in the cliff that were used as open sewage dumps where sludge and rust poured out, and from a distance they looked like stab wounds. The cliff seemed to bleed from numerous wounds. The fortress itself lay upon a plateau on the cliff and glowed from within with a eerie, sickly pale light. The combined sight was enough to make even a seasoned warrior tremble.  
The only way to reach the fortress besides the stairs was along a narrow trench that led up through the plateau, crowned by twin towers and a huge arch at the entrance. There was not a single common orc guarding the trench, only uruks. One of the guards moved to stop him as he was entering the trench, but spotted the collar and backed away, hands raised.  
”Lug-snaga, ya need a warg?” a deep voice called.  
Graznikh turned and watched the uruk that approached him with confident strides. He was the biggest guy Graznikh had ever seen, with black skin and hair and deep blood-red eyes. Red war-paint in the shape of the Eye covered his black-burned armour and he carried a large maul on his shoulder. ”I might. Who's askin'?”  
”Margzat's the name. Commander of the Trench, bloody fancy title eh?”  
Graznikh returned the grin. ”Graznikh, snaga to Lug-durbatar Záhovar. Whazzat ya said 'bout a warg?”  
”New litter whelped this evening. One of 'em's a big one, fit for a Low Officer. Or a Lug-snaga,” he added, nodding at Graznikh. ”Ya interested?”  
”I could take a look.”  
”I heard the Eye went down south,” Margzat said as they walked. ”Things goin' well?”  
”As well as could be,” Graznikh replied. ”Mission more or less completed, so I got sent back. I'd wager the rest will be too, soon.”  
”They sent ya back on foot?”  
”Nar, I had a warg. Lost it not a moon ago, near the border. Bloody rival Top One, thought he could take me out an' send a message to my master.”  
”They're fightin' each other, now?” Margzat sounded surprised.  
”Haven't they always? Sometimes I wonder if they're any better than the rabble down here. Probably just better dressed.”  
Margzat chuckled at that.  
  
The wargpens were located near the base of the fortress. As they entered one of the pens, the warg bitch bristled at the unwelcome visitors and bared her fangs with a hostile growl. Margzat backed away but Graznikh squatted.  
Easy girl,” he said softly. ”I ain't gonna touch your cubs. I just wanna take a look, right here.”  
She eyed him with sand-coloured eyes, fangs still bared. There were scars on her nose and shoulders, probably from the love-bites of her latest suitor. She also had other, older scars that Graznikh grimly recognised as lashmarks. Eventually she got up and left her protesting cubs to sniff the intruder out. If she judged Graznikh a threat, she'd kill him in one bite. Graznikh rocked back and bared his belly, careful not to make eye-contact as the large warg tossed him back and forth with her snout. Suddenly she turned, carefully moving her cubs to make room for her own body before lying down. Then she met Graznikh's eyes and nodded. Graznikh cocked his head, unsure of what she meant. She nodded towards her cubs, then to him and his eyes widened as he understood.  
Being allowed near a newly whelped warg bitch was a great honour. Usually they simply killed whoever dared come near enough. Graznikh moved closer with a revent expression, taking care not to touch the cubs. She eyed him warily but let him close. Warg cubs were born with eyes and ears open, and as he approached one of the little ones turned to look at him, its snout still frothy with fat warg milk. It growled and pounced his fist as he held it out.  
”That's right, train hard,” he said with a grin as he felt the little fangs struggle to pierce his glove. ”You'll be a great warrior and hunter in no time.” He bowed deeply to the bitch as he backed out. ”Thank you, yer Ladyship. I wasn't worthy of this honour, but I'm grateful for it nonetheless.”  
”Zuzar?” the bitch asked as he turned to leave, and he froze.  
”Zuzar,” she said again and licked her cubs briefly, then she nodded at Graznikh.  
”These... are Zuzar's cubs? He's the sire?” Graznikh could scarcely believe his ears or eyes as the bitch nodded. As she cocked her head with a questioning look, the grief returned.  
”I'm sorry,” he said. ”He fell... near the south border. The bloody tarks didn't even dare to face him, but shot him in the back. He died like a warrior, tearing through them even as he fell.”  
The warg bitch's face contorted with grief and her howl shook the walls of the cavern. Graznikh howled too, now that he could share his grief with someone who understood. As they fell quiet, she met his eyes with a vengeful look.  
”Don't worry, I avenged his death,” Graznikh growled. ”They screamed as they died, every single one of them.” She nodded, still grieving but with a pleased expression. Graznikh nodded to the cubs. ”I'm glad I got to see them. He would've been proud, I'm sure of it.” The bitch looked her cubs over with a thoughtful expression, then she picked one up and placed it in front of Graznikh. The biggest one.  
”Are ya sure” Graznikh breathed. She nodded. As he picked the cub up, there was a choked sound from outside followed by a growl from Margzat. Graznikh ignored it, too busy looking at the warg cub who looked at him with curious red eyes. It had an almost black coat with lighter grey stripes and a grey dot above each eye. It wriggled and laugh-growled as he stratched its tummy.  
”Whaddya say, think we could be buddies in the future?” Graznikh said. Then he let the cub back down to where the bitch had taken it.

After a few words of gratitude and a promise that he'd make sure she and her cubs were well cared for, he left the pen. Margzat had the kennelmaster by the throat outside.  
”What the _fuck_ d'ya think ye're doin'?!” the kennelmaster managed to roar despite the uruk's grip. ”Ya stupid fuck, ya can't just saunter into a wargpen like ye own the place!”  
”Sure he can,” Margzat growled. ”That's why he ain't dead and you're soon to be!”  
”Let 'im down, it ain't worth it,” Graznikh said with a disarming smile. As Margzat reluctantly put the kennelmaster down, Graznikh swiftly took over the grip on his neck and backhanded him a couple of times. ”What the fuck is this 'bout lashin' wargs and givin' them away like fuckin' pets?” He roared in the kennelmaster's cross-eyed face. ”Ya wanna make enemies of the entire warg population?! 'Cause that's what's gonna happen if ya go on like this!” The kennelmaster croaked something about him not having the authority, but was interrupted by Graznikh's fist as it connected with his guts. Margzat grinned.  
”I have all the fuckin' authority I want! See this?” He dangled Záhovar's personal sigil in the kennelmaster's face. ”That's all the authority I need! If Lord Záhovar hears about this, he'll be the one doin' the punchin' an' I'll gladly hold ya up for him so 'e won't have to lower 'imself to your fuckin' level!” He let go and pushed the kennelmaster against the wall.  
”Now you'll listen, an' you'll listen well. From now on, you'll feed the wargs afore ya feed yerselves. There'll be no more whippin' them, and no more sellin' or givin' away of warg cubs that ain't ready for it. You'll let them stay with their mothers until the mothers judge 'em ready to go. D'ya understand me?”  
The kennelmaster nodded. ”Good. If I hear that anything's amiss here, you'll be the one to answer for it.”  
”I'll keep an eye on the place,” Margzat said as they left the pens.  
Graznikh nodded his thanks. ”And thanks for bringin' me here. Stroke o' luck, that was. I had no idea my warg had bred, he never told me.”  
”Maybe he meant to, but forgot. Ya know how it is,” Margzat said with a grin.  
”Not really, no,” Graznikh replied but refused to elaborate. ”I need to get to Lugburz, an' quick. I'm already late.”  
”Ever ridden a horse?”  
”Nope, only watched others do.”  
”Got one who'll carry smaller uruks if need be. You're almost as big as one, so you might be able to do it.”  
As he set out again, Graznikh realised that riding a horse was very different from riding a warg. The beast needed constant direction and urging on, otherwise it stopped or left the road altogether. The hard gaits were very uncomfortable and he was sure he would have saddle sores all the way down his legs by the end of the ride. But the horse was fast at least, and after a bit of prodding and growling it ran as if its life depended upon it. Graznikh could only hold onto the saddle and hope the creature would stop when he wanted it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blog Shakâmb - Blood Cliff, Black Speech name for the fortress of Seregost in eastern Mordor.  
> Lug-snaga - literally 'tower slave', the title for a High Officer's personal slave  
> Lug-durbatar - lit. 'tower ruler', High Officer


	8. Skirmish

The horse eventually tired, for which Graznikh was grateful. As he dismounted, his legs nearly gave out and he had to hold onto the saddle to remain upright. The insides of his legs were wet and blackened with blood and every step burned. As he looked around, he found that he must've taken a wrong turn somewhere. He was almost in Nurza-Shûk. _Of all the fist-fucked, flea-ridden, pest-laden, dunghill-rolled bad luck in the world, I had to get the whole bloody kettle full of it!_ The horse nickered and tossed its head.  
”Fuck you,” Graznikh growled through gritted teeth. ”Bloody mockin' beast.” Every step was agony, but he eventually made it to Morigost without meeting anyone on the road, fervently hoping that Sulmurz still held the place together. He half-expected it to be empty as he roared for the guards to open the bloody gate. The guards inside stared at the wobbling Orc and the shaking horse as if a wraith had just presented them each with a bouquet of flowers. Graznikh dropped the reins the moment the gate closed shut behind him and leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief. When asked what to do with the horse, he shouted: ”I don't care! Cook it if ya want, I don't ever wanna lay eyes on it again! Boil it, mash it, stick it in a stew!”  
  
Matters did not improve as Sulmurz came down to meet him. As soon as the Captain laid eyes on Graznikh, he burst into hysterical laughter at the sight. A sour remark that he was ridiculing the second-in-command of a High Officer and was in for a what-for if he didn't stop laughing this very moment only made him laugh harder. If Sulmurz had been able to cry, he would have been weeping with laughter. As it was, he leaned against the wall and drew tortured breaths inbetween the barrages. Everytime he met Graznikh's eyes he lost it again until Graznikh himself couldn't be angry anymore and began laughing as well. A few other soldiers of the garrison came down to check out the ruckus at the gate and stared, petrified, at the both of them; one lying on the floor clutching his guts, the other leaning against the wall looking like he had just had the worst bout of diarrhea in the known history of the Black Land, both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.  
Eventually, Sulmurz managed to catch his breath long enough to order his lackeys to fix up a bed and some healing salve for his poor, arse-chafed well-doer. As Graznikh finally made it there and tried to remove his leather chaps, he found that they had stuck to the dried blood and that removing them meant tearing his legs open. He had half-decided to cut them off instead when Sulmurz lent him an unwelcome helping hand, yanking them off in one go and without laughing, admirably enough.  
  
A lot of healing salve and several mugs of ghâshpau and booze later, Graznikh felt considerably better. He and Sulmurz were reclining on a nice, big pile of furs and old bags stuffed with straw that served as pillows. A fire crackled cozily in the middle of the room.  
”I'm never ridin' a horse again,” he groaned. ”I don't care how much they pay me, it isn't worth it. I'll run to Lugburz the next time!”  
Sulmurz grinned. ”So why are you all the way down here?”  
”Bloody nag threw me off course!”  
Sulmurz snorted into his mug as he began laughing again.  
”Well aren't you in a fuckin' good mood?!” Graznikh tried to growl but couldn't keep the grin off his face. He buried his face into a musty pillow, howling quietly as he stopped laughing. ”I'm done for... Záhovar's gonna string me up and make boots outta my hide if I don't get to the Tower before sh-.. he does.”  
Sulmurz perked up at that and Graznikh let out an internal string of curses.  
” So... that Officer o' yours... Its a she, is it?” Sulmurz asked. Graznikh scowled and nodded. _No use keepin' it in now, damage's done already._  
”Hnh...” He looked thoughtful, then looked at Graznikh through narrowed eyes. ”Figured as much when ya were through here last time. Didn't wanna say anything though. So why's she keepin' ya around?”  
”'Cause I'm good luck and a good fuck,” Graznikh grinned. Sulmurz returned it, nodding towards Graznikh's battered groin with a meaning look.  
”Tell me about it,” Graznikh groaned. ”She's gonna string me up for that, too. Or ride me anyway, that'd be just like her.” Sulmurz had a different kind of grin on his face now. ”Don't even think about it,” Graznikh growled.  
”Oh I don't know,” Sulmurz drawled. ”Judging by the company she keeps, One might think the lady has a thing for Orcs.”  
”Well, lets just say the tarks wear out a little too fast,” Graznikh grinned.  
”An' the elves wear out before the fun has even begun,” Sulmurz chuckled.  
Graznikh's grin turned to a grimace. ”Not all of 'em. But they're not in her league for other reasons.” Then his grin returned. ”Us Orcs though, we're of tougher make. We can take a pounding.”  
Sulmurz grinned even wider. ”And can she?”  
”Can she what?”  
”You know, take a pounding. Or maybe you're a soft ride? Maybe she's tamed ya?”  
”Like fuck she has,” Graznikh growled. ”It's nice to be used every now an' then, but I'm still in charge when I wanna. And when I wanna, she's got nothin' to put up against it.”  
”Hurr,” Sulmurz purred. ”Maybe I should offer my services too. Sounds like a sweet place to serve in.”  
”When you're not ridin' yer arse off across half the Gorgoroth,” Graznikh said with a wince. ”Don't get yer hopes up, it's not all sweet nights and silk sheets.”  
”But they're mixed in, right?” Graznikh's grin told him all he needed to know. ”So where do I sign up? Not lookin' to take yer place or anything. It's just that, sometimes she might be in need of a good ride, an' you're otherwise engaged... I mean, I could sacrifice myself, if it's for a good cause. Share the load a little, take a bit o' the burden off yer shoulders.” He rolled his hips suggestively, and Graznikh chuckled.  
”Ya really think you're up for it?”  
”Sure... So tell me, does she whore for the whole Tower, or just for you?”  
”Watch it,” Graznikh growled, no longer grinning. ”Keep talkin' like that and you'll find it takes more than a few ridin' sores to keep me from fighting.”  
Sulmurz held his hands up. ”Just askin'. I doubt she'd be a Top One through those means alone, anyway.”  
” Oh no, she's not. Make no mistake: she's dangerous. Horny as a warg bitch in heat, but with the temper to match. Someone looks at her wrong, they die.”  
”Moody, is she?” Sulmurz purred. ”I like that!”  
”You have no idea what you're in for. Besides, ya wouldn't last long. If you give her lip like that, your head'll end up on a silver platter and the rest of ya in the cookpits in no time.”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”Or she rolls right over an' spread her legs for me. Some ladies like gettin' talked down to.”  
”Záhovar's not one of 'em, trust me on this.”  
  
  
If Praktash had been able to scream, he would have done so. As it was, he could only watch as the whip came closer, the barbs glittering in the torchlight as they approached his bare skin.  
”Let us try one more time, shall we?” the Voice said in an amused tone. ”Where is Záhovar?”  
Praktash desperately tried to give an answer, any answer, but his vocal cords had broken from all the screaming and he could only cough and wheeze. ”Wrong answer.”  
He did manage to scream as the whip raked his flesh, spraying black blood from both mouth and skin onto the wall against which he was chained. It felt as if he would drown in it. _I'm going to die,_ he thought. _Please, let me die!_  
”Perhaps I shall let you rest a while,” the Voice said thoughtfully. ”Let you heal, at least enough for you to speak. You are a stubborn one, and as pleasant as that may be, answers would be pleasant as well.”  
_I don't have any,_ Praktash screamed inside as the tears burned his battered face. _I can't give answers I don't have!_ He had already screamed it out loud, over and over. But the Voice never believed him. It called him a liar, and with lies came pain.  
The room fell dark and silent, so dark that Praktash could not see. He had lost count of how long he had spent in the dark, knowing that the only break in it would bring more questions he could not answer, and more torture as he failed. Soon, every imagined flicker of light struck fear into his very core.  
  
  
After consulting with Agannâlô, Záhovar decided to ride hard for the Morgul pass. The increasing presence of Númenorean warships on the river made her uneasy. Even so, it would take them weeks to reach the safety of the pass. During those days, Agannâlô kept his subservient attitude towards her. It was only fitting; having spent less time as a High Officer his inofficial rank was lower, but Záhovar did not relax entirely. She had had too many assaults on her authority to take such respect for granted. As she remarked upon it, Agannâlô replied that he believed more in cooperation than in rivalry, and that it would further their Master's goal more swiftly if more people applied such an attitude. Záhovar could not help but wonder if the Dark Lord had intended to send a message by elevating one such as Agannâlô and then send him her way.  
One of Agannâlô's men returned to them from a scouting mission as the were approaching the Crossings of Poros.  
”The ford is held,” he reported. ”Númenoreans.”  
”The King's Men or... the others?” Agannâlô asked, frowning.  
”King's Men.”  
Agannâlô nodded and dismissed him. He then exchanged a glance with Záhovar. ”The politics of Númenor have been dominated by two factions, as of late,” he explained, ”the King's Men and the Elven Loyalists. I'm sure the last group have another name for themselves, but I have never heard it. The Loyalists are mad zealots, but the King's Men can be reasoned with. They are not fond of us, but at the very least we have a common enemy. Let us see if we can talk our way past them.”  
They brought their horses to a slow canter over the hill above the ford. The Númenoreans were busy building fortifications on both sides, Záhovar counted at least fifty men but most of them seemed to be workers, lightly armed.  
”We may not be able to fight our way past them if the negotiations fail,” Agannâlô said. ”I recognise the banner; the man who leads this force is a seasoned commander.”  
”He may not have much experience with fighting on land,” Záhovar replied. ”How many archers do we have?”  
”Eight,” Agannâlô said. ”That makes only twenty soldiers all in all, us included. We are gravely outnumbered.”  
”What sorcery do these Númenoreans use?”  
His eyes narrowed. ”They do not use it.”  
Záhovar glanced at him. ”None at all?”  
”None,” Agannâlô confirmed. ”And neither do I. But you do?” A sly smile spread on his face as she nodded and touched the brooch. It was hot to the touch and flickered faintly.  
”We will have to dismount if I am to use it. The horses will not be able to withstand the dread.”  
”Agreed. But let us see where talking leads us first.”  
  
As the defenders spotted the approaching riders, they began shouting. A man in full armour and three others mounted horses and quickly rode out onto the road.  
”Hold, in the name of the King!” he shouted. Agannâlô and Záhovar did not stop immediately, instead riding a little closer so that they were not obeying his order before stopping. _Little actions like these, seemingly insignificant but so important in the play of power,_ Záhovar thought.  
”Greetings,” Agannâlô called with a nod to the man, removing his helmet in a gesture of peace. ”How fare the Men of Númenor?”  
”Well enough,” the man said. He removed his helmet as well, revealing a full blonde beard and hair tied back with a blue ribbon. ”And what of the Men of Shadow?”  
”Dreadful weather,” Agannâlô replied, ”but when is it not?”  
The man laughed at that. Then he became serious as he eyed their force. ”And what brings you to this desolate place?”  
”The same that brings us from it, I hope. We have no quarrel with you, and wish none.”  
”Peace, then.” The man frowned. ”You come heavily armed for one who speaks of peace.”  
”The roads have become dangerous of late,” Agannâlô said amiably, leaning forward and resting his arms on his horse's neck. ”Those who do not travel armed and in numbers fall prey to bandits or worse.”  
The bearded man nodded, but looked suspicious. ”I am inclined to believe you and let you pass... But unfortunately, my King has commanded otherwise.”  
Agannâlô looked surprised. ”So the war has come, then?”  
”Not yet,” the man said grimly.  
”You do realise that assaulting High Officers is the same as an open declaration of war.”  
”I do. But we have not assaulted you, nor do we intend to. We are simply in your way.”  
”I doubt our Master would tell the difference,” Agannâlô said with a smirking glance at Záhovar, who nodded.  
”War then,” she said. ”Is this your wish?”  
The man looked at her as if he hadn't noticed her before. Then he slowly shook his head. ”No. But I fear this old veteran's wish no longer hold any weight in the King's council.” He bowed to her, then to Agannâlô before he donned his helmet and began riding back. Agannâlô waited until he was back within the fortifications.  
”Are you prepared for this?” Záhovar asked. He nodded. ”I have slain my kin before. It is nothing new, though it grieves me to do so.”

The battle was bloody. The Númenoreans had not yet blocked the road and many of their soldiers were further down on the shore or on the other side of the ford, so the High Officers' small force broke through their first defenses with ease. They dismounted as they reached inside the fortification, Záhovar with her glaive and Agannâlô with sword and shield. The bearded commander's position was soon revealed as his voice urged enemy soldiers into the ford from the far bank. As she stepped into the shallows, Záhovar reached for the Wraith-world, cupped a hand into the water and threw. Several enemies fell, screaming and clutching their eyes as the wraith-ice pierced them. Agannâlô caught her in his arms, shielding them both as a barrage of arrows fell from the sky. The enemy fire killed three of their soldiers, but even more of the enemy's own forces. Agannâlô's archers returned the fire and screams were heard from the opposite bank as their arrows found and extinguished lives.

As they reached the opposite bank, Záhovar spotted boats rowing in from the large ship that moored at the river's mouth. ”We cannot fight any more of them!” she called out to Agannâlô, who nodded. He bled from a gash in his leg where the shield had not deflected an opponent's sword.  
”Can you stop them?” he asked, gasping from exertion. Záhovar looked at the approaching Númenoreans and steeled herself. She drank deep from the Wraith-world and pressed the brooch against her skin, calling out for her Master. The Dark Lord's presence was there, at once both terrifying and calming. Time seemed to slow as the world blurred and He saw her, His presence somehow always shining from behind no matter how she turned.  
_YOU ARE FIGHTING._ It was no question.  
” _Trouble at the Poros Crossing,”_ she replied. _”The Númenoreans have declared war.”_  
AND WHAT DO YOU WANT?  
” _To pass the ford. We have reached the northern bank with heavy losses, but they have called in reinforcements. We will not make it.”_  
_BUT YOU WILL._  
It was a trickle, the power He leant her, but it was enough. The brooch seared her skin. Agannâlô and his remaining men held their ground as a wave of pure dread blasted from her hands, aimed at the Númenorean soldiers running towards them. The enemies screamed and fell, clutching their heads in agony, or threw their weapons and ran, gripped by mindless fear. Agannâlô caught Záhovar as she fell, shouting for his men to get the horses. He threw her onto his own horse before mounting and rode hard, leaving those without mounts behind. They were alive.

  
  
It took weeks for Graznikh's wounds to heal enough for him to walk without pain or discomfort. Sulmurz turned out to be a real pal, making sure he was provided for and keeping him company inbetween inspections and other duties. He kept his garrison in check with the necessary amount of violence but without overdoing it. Much time had passed since Graznikh's last visit, so his local reputation had waned considerably. Some of the grunts got uppity towards him as he began moving about outside Sulmurz's chambers, but after handing out some discipline of his own the dissent quickly receded. His leather chaps were completely ruined, but Sulmurz had managed to scrounge up a pair of baggy linen trousers that felt like a soft breeze against his bruised thighs.  
The food was awful, of course. _It's just as well,_ Graznikh decided while forcing down the grey goo. _I was gettin' spoiled on all that juicy meat anyway._ Sulmurz had finished his bowl and watched him with an understanding expression.  
”I promise ya, whoever cooks this shit must be a proper sadist,” Graznikh muttered after finishing his bowl. ”It takes a special skill to make food taste this disgusting.”  
”It's your own fault, ya know,” Sulmurz chuckled.  
”How is this _my_ fault?!”  
”You told 'em how to cook it. Seriously – 'boil it, mash it, then stew it'? What the _fuck_?”  
Graznikh's face fell. ”I didn't mean it like that! Shit... They really did all that? Poor horsey.” He fell back with a dreamy grin. The booze was getting to his head.  
”I miss aurochs,” he mumbled with a drunk chuckle. ”Compared to aurochs, everything taste like bagronk.”  
”Oh, that shit just fucks in yer mouth an' makes it come hard, too,” Sulmurz exclaimed, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. ”Ya got aurochs in the West?”  
”Nar, never tasted it before I came to Lugburz.”  
Sulmurz stared. ”You've got aurochs in _Lugburz?!_ ”  
”Not in the regular slop, you fuckwit! But the Top Ones dine like tribe chiefs, and Záhovar gives me a taste every now an' then.”  
”Aw, that's cute” Sulmurz snickered. ”Feedin' ya like a pet, is she?”  
”If she wanna,” Graznikh replied. ”I don't care, to be honest. She can do whatever she wants with me, I'm fine with it.”  
”She _has_ turned ya soft!”  
”Yeah. But she turns me real hard too, before the softenin'. If ya catch my drift.”  
”That's just unfair,” Sulmurz sulked.  
Graznikh laughed. ”You sure you wanna be a Lug-snaga? It's not all 'bout fucking, there's hard work involved too. You'd be tied up for the rest of your life, there's no goin' against the word or wish of a Top One.”  
”Like I'm not tied up already,” Sulmurz grunted. ”Stuck in a cave, doin' nothin' but stare at the road all night long, hopin' something unsavoury's gonna come crawlin' up it so we get some action. Nar, this ain't no life. With or without the fuckin', ya seem to have a much sweeter deal.”  
”Well, I could see 'bout gettin' ya transferred if ye're so eager. But don't sit an' wait on it, with the speed the census office works one would think they spend their nights wankin'.”  
”I wonder what they do with all that parchment,” Sulmurz mused. Graznikh rolled his eyes and nodded towards the pot of grey slop. Sulmurz sprayed his pillow with booze as he laughed.

He left Sulmurz and Morigost the next evening and began trudging the road towards Orc Crossing and Morgai. He was surprised to find himself a little intimidated. He hadn't been so completely alone since that brief time when Whindaër was stolen from him. There had always been someone else there; other Orcs, Whindaër, Zuzar, Záhovar or Praktash. Now there was no one. Every now and then he caught himself picking up the pace to get someplace where he wasn't alone anymore. He was relieved every time he was passed by couriers, patrols or troops being transferred. The sounds of trampling, grunting and whips held the loneliness at bay for a moment.

Several nights later he finally reached the encampment at Orc Crossing. After throwing a few freshly caught lizards and rats at the cooks and quartermasters he got a meal and a place to sleep. As he laid down, he realised the folks in the next tent were Low Officers. They were holding a quiet conversation that almost lulled him to sleep, but as they began speaking of a battle to the South he perked up.  
”How many fell?”  
”Twenty set out, only five made it back to the Pass.”  
”That is not good.”  
”It could have been worse. The High Officers survived, battered and bruised but alive. It's open season on all Númenoreans who haven't sworn themselves to the Eye now.”  
”War, then. It was only a matter of time.”  
”Indeed. I suppose some of the fine fellows here will be pleased to hear it; now they have a legit reason to go slaughtering Men at will.”  
”Shh, not so loud! If anyone thinks you're talking down to them, this place will erupt in a spontaneous festival with us as the main attraction.”

Graznikh set out again as soon as he woke up, hurrying towards the Tower. The news he had eavesdropped on last night worried him. _It doesn't have to be Záhovar,_ he tried to reassure himself. _Besides, the Top ones got out alive, so even if she was there she's safe_ now. The bond was faint as he touched it, meaning that she was either far away or unconscious, unless she was dimming it deliberately. It was slow going as he neared the burning mountain (he recalled the Black Tarks referring to it as 'Mount Doom'); it had been very active recently and the road was covered with still smoking flows of black rock. At one point he was forced to dive for cover beneath a rocky outcropping as fist-sized volcanic pebbles began hailing down from above. It ended as quickly as it had begun. After a hard trek, he finally reached Lugburz. He was too tired to think, having only taken brief naps along most of the way. Luckily the guards did not stop him from entering the Tower and he went straight up to Záhovar's empty quarters and crashed into bed. As Záhovar returned home, she found her snaga snoring in her bed. He smiled a little and purred in his sleep as she stroked his wiry hair. As she turned to leave, a hand shot out and grabbed her tunic. He gave her a sleepy grin and kept trying to pull her into bed even as she undressed. Her armour was left in a pile on the floor. __  
  
  
As Graznikh opened the door to leave Záhovar's quarters the following evening, the place was in an uproar.  
”Has there been an attack in here?” he asked Záhovar as he spotted her approaching up the hallway, followed by two tark servants carrying a box.  
”In a manner of speaking,” she said. ”Our Master has commanded a complete reorganisation of the hierarchical structure of the Tower. The previous system, while functioning, had its flaws and with the arrival of the Nazgûl He no longer needs his High Officers to compete to find out who is the most suited for each position. He has decided upon a more stable hierarchy, which will be announced soon. No one but Him knows when that will be or who will receive the new positions, whatever they are, so currently we are left in a power vacuum.”  
”Nazgûl?”  
”I will explain later.”  
”Right.” Graznikh moved aside to let her in. ”I was going to ask if I could leave to find that buddy o' mine.”  
”You may. But first I need you for a while.” She signed for the servants to leave the box open and dismissed them.  
Graznikh gave her a lopsided grin. ”More presents, eh?”  
She nodded towards the box and he began removing the contents.  
  
Soon, several pieces of armour lay sorted on the floor, along with new clothes and boots. The clothes consisted of a simple shirt and baggy trousers, similar to what he already wore but much higher quality. The hemp cloth was coloured a subtle shade of dusty blue and stitched with thick black thread. The armour was made of thick blackish brown leather with black metal sheets riveted on. Graznikh tested the leather and found it was incredibly tough.  
”What kinda leather is this?”  
”Mûmakil,” Záhovar replied. ”A giant of a beast with a long snout which it uses as an arm and tusks large as tree trunks. The Mümakan revere them and keep them as pets, but our Master has commanded that they be tamed for use in battle.” She smiled a little. ”Consider this Jí Indûr's apology, if you wish.”  
Graznikh's head snapped up from admiring the armour. ”That bastard's here?!”  
”He is nowhere in this world.” Záhovar told him of her journey south. Graznikh felt sick as she described the wedding, the true purpose of the ring Indûr had been given and how that purpose was fulfilled.  
”He coulda killed ya,” he whispered, his voice thick. ”Why didn't I feel anything through the bond?”  
”I shut you out. You would not have been able to change what happened.”  
”Yeah, but...” He hesitated. ”Just wish I could.” He met Záhovar's impassive eyes. ”I'm gonna start hatin' that one if He doesn't cut ya some slack soon. He can't ask any more of ya now, can He?”  
”What difference would it make? We belong to Him, to use and discard as He see fit. There is no other way.”  
”Yeah, but... Skai!” He stood and two steps later he had her caught in his arms. Záhovar let him hold her without protest, but did not return the hug. _Oversteppin' my boundaries,_ he thought with a contemptuous scowl. _Breach of fuckin' decorum, I don't care!_ ”I keep tryin' to protect ya, and I keep findin' that the ones I should be protectin' ya from are not the Enemy, but those we're supposed to serve and obey without question. It's like everything in Burzuzg is its own worst enemy.” He sighed as he felt Záhovar's cool hand on his neck.  
”So, 'bout Indûr... he dead?” Graznikh asked as he nuzzled her ear.  
”He is not here anymore, but I do not know if 'death' is an appropriate description for what he is now. 'Undeath' is a more fitting name for it.”  
”The fuck does that even mean?”  
”Our Master stripped him of flesh and independent thought and dragged his spirit into the world of the Unseen. Jí Indûr is no more. Nazgûl took his place.”  
”Nazgûl, Nazgûl... I don't know that word.”  
”It is Black Speech, an ancient tongue that He invented long ago. Little bits of it are present in every dialect of Orcish, but in its pure form it holds great power. He expects His servants to use it and the Nazgûl know no other tongue.”  
”Yeah, but what does it mean?”  
”It means 'ring-wraith'. A wraith brought into being by one of the Rings of Power. I do not know their full tale, only that they exist and that our Master eventually commands whoever wears them.”  
Graznikh nodded slowly. ”You're... not wearin' one, are ya?”  
”No, there is no reason for it. I am His already.”  
  
Graznikh felt a flicker of jealousy at that. Záhovar's eyes took on a dangerous light and he swallowed. ”I ain't gonna steal ya from Him, not again!”  
Her eyes narrowed. ”Again?”  
”Yeah, I... tried that once before. Before... Well, it happened before you were _you_. I'm not sure if it'd be a wise thing to bring up, seein' as you almost beat it the last time I showed ya pieces of your past.”  
Záhovar broke eye contact with a thoughtful nod. ”Then... show me only that moment. Detached from the rest, so that it cannot be connected.”  
Graznikh tried to clear his head as he remembered.  
__  
”No,” Whindaër whispered.  
”It's okay,” Graznikh whispered back, ”I'm here now, I'll get you out.”  
”No! If it is truly you and not a phantom in my mind, you must leave! He will find you!”  
”I don't care,” Graznikh growled. She felt sticky to the touch, but he couldn't tell if it was blood, sweat or something else.  
”Please,” she wept. ”I need you alive! I need you...”  
The darkness suddenly tightened and her head snapped up. What Graznikh felt through the bond almost made him sick with fear. ”He's coming,” she whispered. ”Go, go now, run!”  
Graznikh's heart felt like it was bleeding as he kissed her.  
”I love you,” Whindaër whispered as he turned to leave. ”I will always be with you.” He glanced back, unable to speak. Instead he sent through the bond what he couldn't express with words. As he began to walk towards the corridor, the darkness seemed to tighten further. He pushed against it but it clinged to him like glue, making it difficult to breathe. Just as he reached the stairs it solidified and he barely managed to tear himself free. He panted, staring at the slick solid wall behind him. Had it been real, or just an illusion? He turned and ran.  
  
He involuntarily tightened his grip around her as he felt Záhovar's touch inside his mind, fluttering like a black moth against the glass of a lantern as she lapped at his memory. Standing like this, staring into her half-closed eyes as she probed him made something inside him _twist_ , then all of a sudden he began to feel sick and horny at the same time.  
”Don't ruin this,” he whispered hoarsely. ”Don't manipulate me like this.”  
”But it pains you to remember it like this,” came the breathless reply.  
”Yeah, but feeling good about it doesn't make it any better. Seriously, it doesn't. Pain can be a good thing at times.” Only the last part seemed to make any sense to her, for Graznikh felt her retract, albeit reluctantly. He breathed a sigh of relief - his memory was still his own, with all the pain and grief left intact.  
The impulse to hit her back came to him and he forgot to think it over. Just before she let him go he lashed out at her, the same way he'd done with Whindaër so long ago. There was a shocked cry from Záhovar and everything went black.  
  
_It was completely dark at first but strangely, impossibly, there was light as well. Pale ghostlight outlined nearby ruined structures, every line blurry as if nothing was really there. Colourless fires burned in the distance and the silence was deafening. The haven was a nightmare version of itself, with far too many twisted bodies lying everywhere and blood of two colours sprayed on walls and cobblestones._  
”It is not real.” The voice was something inbeteen a whisper and a hiss, with a high-pitched screeching note to it. ”So many holes, pieces missing, yet none of the pieces fit together, it is  maddening _!”_  
OBEY. The command crushed the nearby ruins to dust in the blink of an Eye. The dust swirled with a hissing sound, turning into a vortex in the darkness that swept everything away and left a feeling of crushing emptiness behind.  
”Nothing is real.” His own face flickered in and out of the dust wall, as if there was hesitation about whether he existed. A red light glowed from behind, always behind. A woman's voice cried out.  
”Who are you?!”  
  
The next moment, Graznikh was on the floor cramping and clutching his head as if that could help him retain his sanity. He pinched his eyes shut and roared out his confusion and fear. He felt a little better afterwards and glanced to his side. Záhovar was on her knees, crying with her forehead and arms pressed against the stone tiles. Her tears had formed a puddle beneath her.  
”I'm sorry,” she wept as Graznikh pulled her up. ”I'm so, so sorry...”  
”I'm not angry at ya,” he murmured. He wasn't sure why she was apologising all of a sudden.  
She looked up at him with a terrorised look in her eyes. ”Don't leave, please don't leave!”  
”Now why'd I do that? I ain't leavin' ya âmbal, I ain't leavin'...” He rocked back and forth, as much for his own sake as hers, holding her close and trying to make sense of what just happened. _Was that a memory? I recognised the haven during the siege, but it didn't really look like that. Was it a memory from... when He turned her?_  
In the middle of a sob, Záhovar fell quiet. Graznikh let her go as she sat back, wiping her teardrenched face and looking at her wet hands with a confused frown, as if she didn't know where the water had come from. Graznikh gave her an unsure grin as she stood and he followed suit.  
”Feelin' better?”  
She looked at him with her usual expressionless gaze. ”I do not know. Better from what?”  
_Praktash would've gone batshit crazy if he'd been in my boots,_ Graznikh thought. Then he cursed.  
_Shit! I almost forgot 'bout him!_ He turned to Záhovar, who was looking over the shirt she had gifted to him. ”I gotta go find my buddy, if that's okay with ya,” he said.  
She thought it over briefly, then nodded her permission for him to do so. ”But try the armour on first. I will not let you go without protection.”  
  
The armour turned out to be just as good as it looked. The leather, although thick, was supple and easy to move in. The riveted steel plates had been burned black with oil and were placed in such a way as to not restrict his movement. The extra weight would take some time to get used to, but overall it wasn't bad. _Not bad at all._  
”I'll be right back once I've found him,” Graznikh assured Záhovar as they went down to the main gate. ”I just wanna make sure he isn't too pissed at me for not being dead all this time.” He felt her hesitate and gave her a reassuring grin. ”I know you're worried 'bout all the assassination attempts,” he whispered, ”An' I won't let my guard down. If something happens, I'll send for ya right away. An' if something happens to ya, send for me as well. Deal?”  
”Deal. If I do not hear from you four tolls from now, I will begin searching.”  
”Fair enough.” He beat his fist against his armoured chest in a kind of salute, then turned to rat out Praktash.


	9. I Will Break Him (AKA F**k Yeah, Aurochs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's gory in more ways than one. You have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Who Says" by Mesh

Graznikh sauntered into the stash room, but his grin faded once he passed the threshold. It was empty, and had been so for a long time. He looked around for a bit, but found no clue as to where Praktash could have gone. Back outside, he called on one of the nearby guards.  
”Where's the Uruk that used to live here? Big guy, slate grey skin, green eyes, red hair and lotsa spikes in his face.”  
The guard shrugged. ”No idea. Ain't been anyone there for years.”  
Graznikh frowned. It wasn't like Praktash to simply vanish like this. Then he had an idea. It meant bending the rules a little, but Záhovar had asked him to find Praktash, hadn't she?  
It took him some time to remember the way to the census archive and he got lost twice. It was next door to the vice castellan's office, but the tark who was vice castellan now was a new guy whom he didn't recognise. He held up Záhovar's sigil in front of the head archivist.  
”Lord Záhovar's looking for someone, an Uruk. Name's Praktash, number BS nog-nog, udu-ruk. Used to be a ghâshpau provider near the East Gate years ago. He wants to know where he's gone.”  
The archivist nodded and left. Graznikh paced the room restlessly while waiting. _This ain't right. Why'd he leave? And where is he?_ He looked up as the archivist returned with a rather thin dossier. He watched as the tark slowly and methodically studied the leather sheets that held his buddy's details.  
”Blog Shakâmb,” the archivist read quietly. ”Transferred to Lugburz, yes. That was a while ago. He was transferred to Udûn, then the Black Gate. And a few years later, to a camp in the Morgai. He was... reported for poisoning a batch of ghâshpau and brought to prison. That was six years ago. Nothing new since then. He might be dead, but I doubt it. It would have been reported.”  
Graznikh nodded and turned to leave, feeling dazed. _Six years in a Morgai prison? That's almost as long as Záhovar was in the Tower dungeon. Fuck you Praktash, if you're dead..._ He shoved that thought away and broke into a run.

After some reasoning, grovelling and begging on his knees Záhovar finally gave in and agreed to let him go. ”Whatever happens, you will return here once you are done, with or without him. If you find him, bring him here. I will provide the necessary documents for his transfer.”  
”Thanks,” Graznikh said as he mounted the warg Záhovar had requisitioned for him. ”I'll be back as soon as I can.”  
It took him two nights to cross the Gorgoroth plateau and another night to find the hold where Praktash had been held last. Záhovar's name and sigil opened the gate for him. Once inside, he went straight for the Captain.  
”A Top One, eh? Why'd they want someone like that?”  
”None of your business,” Graznikh grunted. ”Is he here or not?”  
”Maybe,” the Captain drawled. ”But, y'see, I'm disinclined to let 'im go. Got a good ass, that one.”  
”And I'm disinclined to let you live, seeing as how you're defyin' a Top One,” Graznikh growled.  
”I might part with the bugger... But then I'd want sumthing in return.”  
Graznikh grabbed him by the neck and shoved him against the wall. ”Is your life enough value?” He leaned in, inches from the Captain's face, fangs bared. ”I am the second-in-command of a High Officer,” he growled. ”You don't have the authority to keep me out!” The Captain scowled in anger, clearly debating whether or not to knife him. ”Go on,” Graznikh whispered. ”Pull that knife out. Wanna bet on how long you can survive after I tie your innards to the bars and kick you out the window over there?”  
The Captain wriggled out of his grip and scurried over to grab the prison keys. ”Smart lad,” Graznikh grinned.

Praktash squinted against the torchlight as the door opened, but was too weak to do anything else. Graznikh stared at him. _He's nothing but skin and bones._  
”You fuckin'-” The Captain's knife cut his speech short. The knife scraped against his ribs but could not pierce the thick mûmakil-hide of the new armour. _Thanks Záhovar,_ he thought as he caught the Captain by the throat. _I owe you my life again, and Praktash's. I'll never be able to pay you back if this keeps up._ He dragged the flailing Orc towards the window, grabbing a meathook along the way and fastening it onto the bars of the cage that stood next to the window.  
”Don't say I didn't warn ya of what'd happen if ya went down this path,” he said in a conversational tone as he pulled a knife. The Captain howled as Graznikh slit his guts open, reached into the cut and then kicked him out the window. There was a wet sound as the Captain's fall was brought short. Graznikh wiped his hands on his trousers and went to check on his buddy.  
Praktash tried to whisper something as Graznikh drew near, but his voice was broken from thirst and screaming.  
”Don't worry, I'm here now,” Graznikh said. He held the ghâshpau flask to the Uruk's lips and Praktash drank eagerly.  
”I'm dead,” he whispered as the ghâshpau dulled his pain.  
”Not yet you aren't. C'mon, let's see about getting ya outta here.” Heavy shackles kept Praktash in a painful half-sitting position against the wall, forcing constant weight onto his broken legs. Both of them were shattered with the bone sticking out in places where bone was definitely not supposed to stick out. One of his eyes was swollen, his lips were broken and he had chewed his own tongue so badly that he could barely speak. His backside and the insides of his thighs were smeared with dried black blood, among other things. He had been whipped, not with the regular whips the taskmasters used but the barbed ones used for torture where the victim was not intended to live for long. His back and arms were one big wound with strips of skin hanging and revealing the raw flesh underneath. Every move caused blood and pus to ooze out.  
”You stay here for a bit,” Graznikh said quietly after unlocking the shackles. ”I'll see about findin' a few snagas to carry ya.”  
”Don't go,” Praktash hissed with a gleam of terror in his eyes. ”Don't leave me here!”  
”I'm not leavin' ya," Graznikh replied softly. "But I can't carry you on my own. We'll need something for ya to lie down on, and something to fix those legs o' yours so they won't take more damage. I'll be back this time, I promise.”  
”Promise,” Praktash whispered, as if not understanding the word. Then he let go with a defeated whimper. Graznikh reluctantly let go and left to find something to make a stretcher from. As he turned a corner, he suddenly stood eye to eye with Margzat. The giant Uruk flashed his fangs as he recognised Graznikh.  
”Hey Graz. Whaddya doing here in the backwater of Morgai?”  
”Lord Záhovar's orders,” Graznikh replied. ”There's a prisoner here that he wants, alive and unspoilt. But the fuckers did a number on him anyway.”  
”Fucking snaga,” Margzat growled, and Graznikh wasn't sure at first whether the Uruk meant him or the inhabitants of the hold. ”Stupid idea to mess with an Officer. Ya made them realise their mistake, I hope.”  
”Captain's already informed,” Graznikh grinned and motioned at his gut. Margzat returned the grin. Then he became thoughtful, watching Graznikh with his head cocked. ”Ya need a hand?”  
_That was unexpected._ ”Yeah, if ya got any to spare.”  
”I'll send a couple o' my boys here and give them clear instructions on what to do,” Margzat said. ”The rest of us will teach these rabble what it means to go against the Eye. Been too long since the last fight anyway, an' they're getting restless.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”I'll pay ya back for that.”

Once the hûrk that Margzat commanded arrived, things went fast. _They sure are an efficient bunch,_ Graznikh thought as he poured more ghâshpau down Praktash's throat before splinting his legs and moving him to the makeshift stretcher.  
”Not... Not the back,” Praktash hissed, motioning towards the lash wounds. Graznikh had the Uruks place him face down before lifting the stretcher and moving outside. Graznikh had managed to convince the warg to pull a travois so that the Uruks would not have to carry Praktash all the way to the Tower. Graznikh did not doubt the Black Uruks' obedience, but he could see that they were disgruntled about missing an entertaining battle.  
”I'll take over from here,” Graznikh said after Praktash was secured to the travois. ”Don't wanna keep ya from the fun.” The Uruks grinned as they left. _Fuckin' creepy bastards._ Despite being smarter and more sensible than most, Graznikh wasn't overly fond of the members of the Blog Shakâmb garrison. There was too much sorcery in the air around them.

The journey back to the Tower took a lot longer than Graznikh wanted. Praktash howled in agony every time the travois hit a bump in the road, despite the ghâshpau that Graznikh kept giving him. Margzat's company caught up with them just as they left Orc Crossing, and after a brief discussion the commander decided to escort them.  
Margzat eyed Praktash's battered body. ”You're lucky the Officer wants ya,” he growled. ”Had you been on my team, I'd've killed you.”  
”Thanks for the concern,” Praktash said and managed to force a grin that made his lips break open and begin to bleed.  
Margzat laughed. ”Nar, you're a tough one.”  
”So what happened?” Graznikh asked. ”The archivist I used to find ya said something about poison.” Margzat frowned but stayed silent.  
”I got set up,” Praktash growled. ”Wasn't me that poisoned the ghâshpau, I sample every batch I make an' seal 'em with wax, so I'd've been dead if it was me. Don't know who did it, but I've got my guesses.” He glared at Graznikh.  
”What, you think _I_ did this?!”  
”No.” Praktash swallowed. ”Top One. Someone who thought I had stolen some jewel or something like that. That's what they kept asking me about, anyway.”  
”Záhovar,” Graznikh whispered. ”They thought you were in league with Lord Záhovar.”  
”Sounds like a real coward,” Margzat commented. ”Doesn't dare to go at him directly, so he hunts his snagas down instead.”  
”So this 'jewel' is a Top One?” Praktash asked with a confused frown.  
”Yeah, Lug-Durbatar Záhovar. My master.”  
Praktash cursed as loudly as his sore throat allowed. ”I told you to fuckin' stay away from those!! Is that where ya went when I thought they'd killed you? Fuckin' idiot snaga.” Margzat growled but Graznikh held up a hand to stop him. Then he leaned closer to Praktash's face.  
” If it wasn't for Záhovar, you'd still be in that dungeon. He's the one who got you out, not me. And he saved my life back there. They _were_ going to kill me but once he was elevated, he stepped in. Asked the Eye to spare me, if I stayed on as his snaga. I didn't have much choice in the matter.” He stood back up. ”And then we had to leave Lugburz, right away. I figure the others would've torn him _and_ me to shreds if we'd stayed.”  
Praktash groaned, still unconvinced. ”And I'm bound for the same pit now, aren't I? What would a Top One want with me anyway?”  
”Well, you could tell him what they asked ya about back there. He might be able to figure out who's hunting him before they're at his throat. Or mine. Or yours – again.”  
Praktash snorted and winced at the pain that brought. ”Ya really made yourself useful, didn't ya?” Graznikh grinned, but didn't reply.

 

As they passed the main gate of Lugburz, Graznikh reached out through the bond. Záhovar's presence met him almost immediately. He brought up a memory of Praktash's current condition along with the feeling of needing help, hoping that she would get the hint. Margzat left them as they reached the Tower gate, heading for the barracks. Záhovar was waiting for them at the base of the Tower.  
”I have sent for a healer,” she said. Praktash glanced up at her with his one good eye and Graznikh could smell his fear as he recognised her. Záhovar beckoned for a group of Tower servants and commanded them to bring the Orcs up to her quarters.  
”Looks like you're going up in the world,” Graznikh said jokingly, but Praktash obviously didn't find anything amusing by it. He was holding onto the travois with a cramped grip. ”Don't worry buddy, I'm with ya,” Graznikh whispered. ”You'll be up an' running in no time.”  
That made Praktash grin weakly. ”Don't be daft. I'll never walk again, you know that. If I even survive. I can feel the fever rising.”  
”We'll see about that.”  
  
The healer gave Praktash's legs a sceptical look, but after a few words from Záhovar that Graznikh qouldn't quite pick up he got to work. They were in the room that Záhovar had gifted Graznikh in her quarters. Zàhovar sat at her desk in the main room and appeared busy with some paperwork, but Graznikh knew she kept a close watch on the procedure.  
The healer handed Praktash a mug. ”Drink this,” he said. ”It will help you relax.”  
”What is it?”  
”Does it matter?” the tark snapped. ”Just drink it.”  
”Tell him,” Zàhovar said calmly. The healer reluctantly began listing the ingredients. Praktash nodded when the list was finished and took a careful sip, but immediately spat it out and put the mug down. ”Gimme water, I need to rinse this out quick. Ya forgot to mention the spider venom.” The healer began to sweat.  
”Poison?” Graznikh asked and Záhovar's head snapped up, but Praktash shook his head.  
”Nar, but almost as bad. It makes you go limp as a boned fish and usually makes you faint, but the other stuff he's put in it counters that last effect.” He gave the healer a grim look as he continued. ”You stay awake, you still feel the pain, only you can't move or do anything to show it. Makes things easy for a healer or an assassin, but it's agony for the one subjected to it. Nice way to torture someone or kill 'em slowly, if you wanna.”  
”How... how did you know..?” The healer stuttered.  
”Been in the drug business for a long time,” Praktash said with a sneer. ”I know the tricks o' the trade.” Then his good eye grew wide as Záhovar appeared behind the healer and spun the man around to face her.  
”You have one last chance,” she said coolly. ”Your continued career and manner of demise depends on this Uruk's recuperation.” Then she left the trembling healer and returned to her work in an unhurried fashion.

After mixing a new concoction, this time next to the bed so that Praktash could supervise the procedure and giving it to the now heavily sweating Uruk, the healer prepared to set his bones straight. Praktash was soon delirious from the strong potion and Graznikh had to force the leatherwrapped stick in between his fangs.  
”What is that for?” Záhovar asked.  
”Something he taught me,” Graznikh replied. ”It keeps him from bitin' down too hard and damaging his teeth or chewin' his tongue off.” Despite the painkillers, Praktash was soon thrashing and howling in pain as the healer cut his leg open with a sharp knife and peeled the skin and membranes off to reveal the shattered bone. Graznikh was not weak-stomached, but he couldn't bear to look upon the gruesome surgery, focusing instead on holding Praktash still. The Uruk's eyes were feverish with agony and he no longer responded. Not knowing what else to do, Graznikh turned to Záhovar with a helpless look.  
The Officer assessed the situation, then gave Graznikh a small nod. The air grew colder as she reached into the Wraith-world. Graznikh opened his mouth to protest but as Záhovar brushed her fingertips against Praktash's temples, his head fell to the side as if dead. _I just wanted some support,_ Graznikh thought, _not a spell!  
_ ”Work fast,” Záhovar instructed the healer. ”I cannot keep him on the threshold for long.”

After setting the many splinters and pieces of bone straight in Praktash's leg, the healer hammered tiny nails into them to keep them in place while the bone healed. The skin was rewrapped and the cut sewn close, then the leg was smeared in healing paste and wrapped in wet rawhide that would form a hard casing once it dried. Záhovar released his mind then, and the scream he let out as life returned to his eyes was not as much from pain as from terror. Graznikh tried to talk to him and give him some ghâshpau, but he refused to answer. He stared into the wall, eyes twitching, shoulders shaking and teeth chattering.  
”What'd you do to him?” Graznikh asked quietly as he left the room. Záhovar had just sent the healer off after ordering him to return the next night to finish setting the other leg.  
”I brought his spirit to the threshold of the world of the Unseen. It kept him from feeling the pain of his body, but it can be... somewhat distressing for someone not used to the experience.” Graznikh shuddered, suddenly remembering the brief moment he had spent there himself. He had no memory of what he had seen, only of the intense lingering dread that came with it. _And that old witch's probably put him through the same thing a number of times before. Poor sod._  
  
Praktash was still staring at the wall when Graznikh returned with a large plate of food. Záhovar had been called out on some business, so now he had a perfect time to have a nice, long chat with his buddy.  
”I'm not hungry,” Praktash muttered as Graznikh tried to get him to eat.  
”Well, you won't heal if you don't eat. Try it, it won't bite ya back.”  
”I don't want to heal,” he growled.  
Graznikh gave him an odd look. ”What? Why not?”  
”I'll tell ya why not!” Praktash turned to give Graznikh an angry look. ”How did she know where I was? Why did she send ya to search for me if you didn't tell her things?”  
”Oh come on, I didn't-”  
”You didn't? And how did that other Top One know my name, if he didn't know you used to hang out with me and knew you hung out with an Officer now? If not for you, none of this would've happened!” Praktash fell quiet, wincing as the effect of the painkillers slowly began wearing off. ”I'll never be an Officer's plaything,” he hissed. ”Not again.”  
”It's not so bad. The food's great, the tasks're easy enough, the-”  
”Shut up! You haven't seen or felt what they're capable of! They're not Orcs or tarks, they're bloody monsters!”  
”Nar, I only spent the last fifteen years or so right next to one,” Graznikh said in a sarcastic tone. ”Besides, Záhovar's different. She-”  
”Nar! You don't get it. You've never gotten it,” Praktash growled. ”You were dragged off by Gîrakûn's fucking apprentice! I thought you were dead so I bolted. Then you show up half an age later, sauntering into that dungeon like you fuckin' own the place. Not a message, not a word, not so much as a 'good-bye'. And you expect me to just suck it up like I used to do.”  
”Praktash... I  did send a message.”  
”Well I never got it.” Then he fell silent, watching Graznikh with sullen eyes. ”So did ya get it back?”  
”Get what back?”  
”That bond you've been begging for all these years like a dog at the Dark Lord's dinner table. Did ya get it? Was it worth it?”  
_What the fuck is this now?_ ”Yeah, I did. And yeah, I guess. It's different, but good. Why d'you ask?”  
”So you've got what you wanted. All you wanted,” Praktash sneered. ”You told me so yourself, that it was all you had left to live for. So why come running after me?”  
”Because... Because you're not her! And she isn't you! You're my buddy!”  
”And here I thought you'd made up your mind. But you're still an indecisive little shit, just like then.”  
”What?! You want me to choose, is that it? Well, here you have it: I can't! I can't choose, because I want you both. Praktash, this isn't some bloody competition!”  
”Oh? And whaddya think she'll do when she finds out? You think she's gonna let her pet play around on his own like that?”  
”She already knows,” Graznikh said. He regretted the words the moment they left him, but it was too late. Praktash's eyes narrowed and his voice fell to a whisper. ”You told her about us?”  
Graznikh desperately tried to come with an excuse. ”I didn't really, she-”  
”What did you tell her?”  
”Only that... we live together. Hang out, drink, that sort of thing.” Praktash's expression spoke as clearly as if he had been screaming 'I don't believe you' in Graznikh's face.  
”You told her everything, didn't you?”  
”Praktash no, I-”  
  
” You know what? You can take that pretty little Officer of yours and go fuck yourselves to the Western shore and back!” Praktash looked as shocked as Graznikh felt as the words echoed through the High Officer's quarters. Graznikh stood, clenching and unclenching his fists as he felt the red haze of berserker rage fall upon him. But before he could act upon it, something grabbed him by the neck – _inside_ his neck – and gave him a good hard shake, tearing the berserk to pieces inside his mind. He stormed out of the room with a snarl and began pacing the quarters, fuming silently. He started as he spotted Záhovar leaning against one of the tall carved bedposts. _I didnt even hear her enter. Or was she there all the time?_ He frowned as she pointed towards her bed without a sound.  
” What, you want that _now?_ ” he whispered in disbelief. She shook her head, then pointed at him, the bed and made a gesture as if ripping something apart. It took a moment for Graznikh to understand what she meant. Then he gave her a grateful nod, threw himself into the bed and let his rage out on the expensive silken sheets. Little pieces floated like white downy feathers in the air around him when he finally collapsed from exhaustion on the bed. _Why can't things be simple?_ he screamed inside. He reached out through the bond, but Záhovar gently pushed him back.  
”I cannot advise you in this,” she whispered. ”It will not be worthwhile unless you solve it yourself.”  
”Can't you just make him hate you a little less?” Graznikh whispered back.  
”What he feels is not hate. Perhaps I could change it, but do you truly want that?”  
Graznikh stared sullenly at nothing at all. ”I... don't know. I guess not.”  
Praktash still hadn't touched the food when Graznikh went to bed a few hours later. He was shivering and as Graznikh placed a ghâshpau skin next to him, he twitched but didn't speak. Before he fell asleep, Graznikh realised that Záhovar had saved Praktash's life once more. _If she hadn't been there to stop me, I would've killed him. Skai..._

When the healer returned the next night, Graznikh left the quarters. The Uruk's fever had risen during the night and he had offered to help, but Praktash had only hissed that he had had enough of his 'help'. Záhovar was gone again so he took to wandering the streets, cursing under his breath and hoping that some sorry bastard would dare to pick a fight with him. When that didn't happen, he went to his old favourite alehouse and bumped into Margzat. The big Uruk thanked him jovially for the 'sport' he had provided in Morgai and offered to buy him a drink, which Graznikh gladly accepted. He wasn't really in the mood for company, but Margzat was an important ally so he had to keep up appearances. Besides, drinking himself into a stupor seemed like a really good idea.  
  
Praktash pressed the blanket to his face, desperately trying to choke down his sobs and keep his fear in check. He hadn't been this scared since his time in the dungeons, before the old witch tossed him out on the streets of Blog Shakâmb. And now he was in the clutches of her student. _You told her. You told her everything. I saw her together with the witch and I told you about my time there, and yet you_ told _her! Fuck you Graznikh, why d'you have to be so stubborn? Did she twist your mind, making you think she's the same as before, the Elf you fucked? Or were you in on everything the whole time? I saw them together... She probably knows what Gîrakûn's done to me. She probably means to do the same, maybe she's still her student and means to practice on me, since I'm already 'prepared'._ The thought made him sick, and he pinched his eyes shut as a terrified shiver ran down his spine. He didn't hear anyone in the quarters, but he didn't doubt for a second that she was watching him somehow. There was no way to tell if the other sounds, those that came from outside the door, were real or just his nightmares brought to life by the painkillers. He'd had a lot of those moments since Záhovar touched him. _Will she let me go when I've healed? Maybe she'll keep me here forever, with Graznikh skippin' in laughing and talking like everything was normal. 'Not so bad', you fuckin' arsehole. I wish he'd left me in Morgai. It was better thinkin' he was dead..._

It took weeks for Praktash's wounds to heal, and even longer for his broken legs to mend. Once the bones had set, the skin had to be reopened to remove the nails and then the bone was left to set completely. It was an excrutiatingly painful procedure but Praktash rode it out like a war hero. In all this time, he refused to speak to Graznikh more than absolutely necessary. After a few months the Uruk could begin to walk, wincing in pain with every step but still refusing Graznikh's offers to help. Graznikh was livid when he found out that Záhovar had let him go one day, but Praktash left no clues to where he'd gone and Záhovar claimed not to know. One night, he simply walked out of the Tower and was gone. _It's over, get over it,_ Graznikh told himself. _People come and go, that's life._ _You've got buddies aplenty, what's the loss of one?_ But it didn't really help. _Maybe he'll come back if I grovel and beg like I do with Záhovar. He was always the Top One for me anyway._ The thought made him grin as he pictured how pissed the Uruk would be over being referred to like that. _Could I even do that? Roll over and show my throat to him? Would it help, or would he kill me?_

Záhovar studied the sleeping Praktash the last day before he left, pondering her next move. She had tried to speak with him a few times, but he had been so afraid that she could not get much out of him. The Uruk was clearly phobic and paranoid, thinking that all High Officers were out to get him and that every slight that originated with one of them was aimed at him personally. She could feel Graznikh's distress and frustration through the bond. He had been drinking far too much lately and was barely able to keep up with the chores she had given him to help take his mind off the pain. She thought back on his request that she change the Uruk's mind. It would be difficult to break through such a conviction, but she was at her home turf now. Fear could be manipulated, countered and dispelled. _Perhaps I shall give him what he wants. In me, he sees a monster. Then I shall be one to him._

 

One morning as Graznikh wobbled home from the alehouse, four Uruks descended upon him in an alley. He tried to fight but was so drunk that he couldn't do much except curse and shout.  
”Lord Záhovar sends 'is regards,” was all he heard before a few quick punches took him out, then he was blindfolded and dragged off.  
He awoke as someone poured a bucket of cold water over him. As he sobered up he found himself in a cell, staring into Praktash's green eyes. He hadn't seen the Uruk in over three months and didn't know what to say. Praktash decided for him, nodding towards the leering guards.  
”Those are the Top Ones' own pets,” he said quietly. He sounded weary, as if he hadn't had enough sleep in a long while. ”The taskforce used to catch dissenters and playthings for the Officers. It's a one-way street from here on.”  
Graznikh snorted. ”Life is a one-way street,” he said bitterly. Praktash nodded solemnly, meeting his eyes. Graznikh looked away, so he missed the Uruk's hurt and longing look.  
”Look buddy, I-”  
”Still buddy, is it?” Praktash interrupted.  
”Yeah, buddy it is! You'll always be my buddy. Doesn't matter what you say or do.”  
Praktash snorted and rubbed his eyes to cover up the blasted, unwanted tears that burned there. ”Doesn't really matter now, does it?”  
The faint flicker of a torch could be seen far away, but apart from that the dungeon was dark. The prisoners didn't need to see and most of the guards could see perfectly well in the dark. Graznikh turned to stare at the wall. Despite the events of late, despite _everything_ , Praktash couldn't help but undress him with his eyes. _If things hadn't been so fucked up..._  
”I miss Dunland,” Graznikh muttered. ”Things were so much simpler back then. Just runnin' with th' band, raiding and fighting, meet up with the Dunlendings every now an' then to sell what we didn't want for ourselves, holin' up in a stronghold over the winter, nice and cozy...”  
”And screwin' an Elf,” Praktash added.  
”Was thinkin' of _before_ that, actually,” Graznikh replied sourly. Then he sighed. ”It was a nice fantasy. Ending up here wasn't really part of the plan.”  
”Hnh...” Praktash looked away. ”Wish I had something to miss.”  
Graznikh looked up. ”You don't? What about before... that place?”  
Praktash snorted quietly. ”The first thing I remember is the witch sneerin' at me. She wiped me clean, every memory I might've had from before, all gone. The dungeon was all I knew.” He glanced at Graznikh, his eyes glowing a poisonous green in the dark. ”You're probably bound for the same fate, if you start actin' up.”  
”Záhovar'd never do that,” Graznikh whispered, but he felt his faith in her waver at Praktash's telling look.  
”Are you daft? She's the witch's apprentice, I told ya!”  
”That doesn't make her Gîrakûn's pawn.”  
Praktash scowled at hearing the name of his torturer and nodded. ”You never wondered why I wouldn't talk to yer 'âmbal'? Why I wouldn't let her see me, why I told you to keep quiet? _This_ is why. If the witch saw me she'd recognise me in an instant. I don't know if she'd want me back but I wasn't going to take that risk. But you did that for me. And look at us now.”  
”I never told her about-”  
”Don't you start lyin' to my face again!” Praktash snarled.  
”Seriously, just hear me out,” Graznikh said, hands raised. ”I never had the chance to tell her. The moment the bond was back, she dug into my head. Cut through my brain like it was melted grease, I had nothing to put up against it, nothing!”  
The disbelief in Praktash's eyes faded a little, but not much. ”And yet you keep going back to her. It's all fine with you.”  
”I don't have a choice,” Graznikh hissed through gritted teeth. ”If I tried to run she'd just haul me back, in chains if need be. An' I can't just stick my head in a dungpit and wish it all away, so I'm trying to roll with the punches.” He sighed. ”And it's not all fine. I hate this,” he tugged at the slave collar around his neck, ”and I can't even berserk without her say-so.”  
”Seriously?”  
”Yeah... If I try, she just reaches in and sort of unplugs it. I prefer your method,” he said and grinned at the Uruk he'd called 'buddy' for so long. Praktash grimaced as he tried to resist returning it.  
”You prefer a punch to the face?”  
”I'd take that any time over having my brain wrung out like a wet rag.”  
They fell silent for a moment, staring at the floor. As footsteps came echoing up the dungeon corridor, Graznikh met Praktash's eyes. ”Doesn't really matter now though, does it?” he whispered. The raw grief and longing in his face made Praktash want to scream out loud. Their Uruk captors returned to open the cell and began to blindfold them both. Praktash lost it and fought with the viciousness of one who had nothing more to lose, but was soon subdued. The captors laughed and dragged them away to some unknown place.

They soon found themselves naked in another dungeon, Praktash in shackles with his back against the wall and Graznikh standing in the middle of the room with his arms stretched out and suspended in chains above his head. Looking around, Graznikh soon realised that they were in his room in Záhovar's quarters. He had never noticed it before, but this must've been the room's original purpose. He swallowed hard as he met Praktash's 'I told you so'-look. Záhovar entered, giving them each an appreciative look before heading over to a large sinister-looking chest near the opposite wall. As she opened it, the lid revealed a number of torture instruments. Praktash made a half-choked sound.  
”What's this all about, Záhovar?” Graznikh asked, trying to keep his fear in check. It pounded upon his mind, demanding to be let in. He touched the bond, but she had shut him out. There was a black, slick sensation as he tried push it that made him tremble a little. ”If I've done something stupid, you know you could just let me know, I'd make it up to ya!”  
”Bloody traitor,” Praktash growled. ”Even now you'd lick her arse if commanded!”  
”Interesting suggestion,” Záhovar murmured. ”But this is not about you, Graznikh.” She weighed various implements in her hands, and eventually settled upon a whip. As she held it up between the two Orcs, Graznikh frowned. It was not one of the hard braided rawhide whips that the taskmasters used or a torturer's implement, but a soft many-tailed whip made of leather thongs with little knots in the end of each. It would sting quite a bit and perhaps even draw a little blood after a while, but it looked more like a toy than anything else.

Praktash felt the panic rise like bile in his throat as he eyed the whip. The tiny polished steel barbs glinted in the torchlight. _She might as well hit us with a sword right away, that thing'll tear us to pieces!_ Graznikh looked more confused than frightened. _She must be inside his head already, makin' him think it won't be so bad._ The thought made Praktash feel sick. He watched helplessly as the Officer leisurely walked behind Graznikh, swaying the whip along with each step. Then she gave him two lashes and Graznikh grunted, inhaling through his teeth. Praktash growled.  
”You fuckin' bitch!”  
Záhovar slung the whip over her shoulder and walked over to him. She took Praktash's dick in her hands, tugging gently. He gave her a look of pure disgust.  
”T-t-t,” she said as the expected reaction never came. ”This will not do. If you do not respond soon, I am afraid I will be disappointed. And then I would have you choose. Left or right?”  
Praktash shook his head without replying. Záhovar let go with one hand and drew a small ornate dagger with an obsidian blade. Then she took hold of his left testicle. ”Left..?” She let it go and took the right one. ”Or right?” The dagger glittered darkly before his eyes and Praktash heard Graznikh squeak out a terrified ”What?!” behind Záhovar's back. He tried to speak but his tongue would not obey him. Záhovar let go off his balls.  
” Then you will simply have to respond, will you not?” Praktash swallowed hard and desperately tried to find something to get him hard as she began stroking him again. Graznikh caught his eyes, licking his lips and humping the air with a hungry look. His acting was crap but Praktash held onto that, bringing up every pleasurable moment they had shared and it worked. Záhovar hummed as she ran a finger along the Uruk's big black member.  
”Impressive.” Praktash let out a sigh of relief and revulsion as she let him go and sheathed the dagger. Graznikh growled at her as she took the whip from her shoulder. _Why aren't you screaming in agony?_ Praktash thought as he saw the blood-drenched barbs. Záhovar stopped in front of the Orc.  
”Get yer cunt in the air an' I'll show ya something else that can flick around pretty good,” Graznikh growled and wiggled his tongue in her face. She gave him a sly smile and moved to stand beside him. Graznikh purred as he felt her hand on his cock, then there was a loud smack and he roared in surprise more than pain as she brought the whip down hard across his buttocks. Praktash roared when he saw the blood spattering from the hit. He threw himself forward, but was stopped abruptly by his shackled wrists. He stopped struggling as he picked up a faint sound. _Did the left one just give a little?_

Graznikh whimpered as he met Záhovar's eyes and found that depraved, hungry gleam which he had grown to love so much. They had played games like this before but never like this, never so intense. He wasn't sure if Záhovar was serious or not, and the edge that put him on was almost unbearable.  
Praktash grimaced as he saw Graznikh's defeated, helplessly horny expression. _She's bleeding you dry and you're still hard? I'm gonna tear that mind-messin' makatok to shreds once I'm outta these._ He braced himself against the wall and pulled. The left shackle creaked as it slowly gave, but the sound was drowned by Graznikh's growls and moans and the sounds from the whip. _There,_ Praktash thought with dark satisfaction as the shackle came loose. He left his hand where the shackle used to be stuck to not raise Záhovar's suspicions as he began pulling the other loose as well.  
”You have grown quiet,” Záhovar said after a while as she turned away from Graznikh, who hung in his shackles and had been reduced to whimpers and purrs. ”Why is that, I wonder?” Praktash met her gaze with hate in his eyes as she came closer. ”Have you given up hope so soon?”  
” More like I found it,” Praktash said with a bloodthirsty grin as he lowered his arms, the torn shackles still stuck around his wrists. ”Time to start the real games, shall we?”   
Záhovar's smile faded and she dropped the whip in surprise. He rolled his shoulders and walked towards her as Záhovar backhanded him with her fist so fast he had no time to react. Praktash was more than a head taller than her and she couldn't cause any serious harm to him without weapons, but the surprise was enough to make him stagger back. He wiped his broken lip and when he looked up, his face contorted in fury. ”I'm gonna fuck ya 'til ya break, makatok!”  
”Then show me what you've got, _snaga_ ,” Záhovar said with a wraithlike hiss. Graznikh had never sobered up so fast in his entire life, but could only watch as his mistress and his buddy tore at each other. He cursed. Praktash tried to punch her, but she avoided him with ease. Záhovar clawed the Uruk's chest as he caught her by the waist, drawing black blood with her nails. Graznikh winced as Praktash slammed her against the wall.

  
Praktash had planned to kill her, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to hurt her, humiliate her and pay back for everything she had put him and Graznikh through. He didn't care if she was female, this wasn't about pleasure. This was payback for all the mindfucking.  
”Get your hands off her!” Graznikh growled as he saw the bulge inside Praktash's loincloth and realised what was on his mind.  
”Shut up!” Praktash snarled. There was a ripping sound as he tore her robe to pieces. He untied his loincloth with one hand, pinning her to the wall with the other and spat on his dick. Záhovar's eyes widened with panic.  
”What the fuck, you gonna rape her?! If you touch her with that dick I'll tear it off! I'll fuckin' kill ya!!” Graznikh roared in futile rage, but he clamped his mouth shut as Záhovar yanked the bond. He gave her an incredulous glance. The look in her eyes was that of fear, but what he felt through the bond spoke clearly; _”I have him right where I want him.”_

His mind went blank at first. _She's faking it?_ Praktash snarled as he tried to aim for her arse, but she wiggled so much that he missed. _She's faking it!_ Záhovar let out a whimper as Praktash stabbed his way deep inside her, and Graznikh couldn't keep the purr out of his throat at the sight.  
Graznikh wasn't jealous, he didn't mind sharing. The only reason he had stolen away with Whin was because he didn't want to kill her and he knew his bandmates would. He wanted his little Elf to go on living with the knowledge that an Orc had claimed her so completely. Now as he watched Záhovar succumb to Praktash's rough treatment, he felt his rage seep away only to be replaced by intense horniness. Watching the Uruk ram her against the wall, hearing his furious grunting, her screams and knowing that she had willingly provoked and lured him into it was unbelievably hot. The Uruk let out a deep growl as she arched her back to take him deeper. Praktash didn't care if he hurt her, in fact he hoped he did. He heard Graznikh growl as he lifted her off the ground and bounced her up against the wall with the sheer force of his thrusts. The sound of his buddy's enjoyment dimmed his anger a little and he turned his head to look at him as fury began mingling with pleasure. Graznikh was facing sideways and despite the blood streaming down his back Praktash had a really sweet view of his rear and the depraved hungry look in his eyes sent the Uruk over the edge. Záhovar's voice broke as Praktash bucked one final time and roared his climax, biting into her shoulder and drawing blood.

Praktash breathed against her neck, trembling from the exertion. As the blind rage and lust faded, he suddenly realised what he had done. He had just raped a High Officer. He almost began to babble in panic as Záhovar's ragged breath and sobs reached his ears and he withdrew quickly, trying to put some distance between himself and impending doom. Blood and black seed trickled down her legs.  
”Let me loose,” Graznikh growled. Praktash had almost forgotten about him and stared dumbly at the sight of his mad grin. Graznikh nodded towards Záhovar. ”I'm gonna finish what you started. Let me loose, I'm gonna fuck her so hard she'll walk funny for years.”  
As Praktash undid the shackles with shaking hands, Graznikh went over to Záhovar and grabbed her arms. Her eyes widened as he slammed the chest shut, flung her on top of it, grabbed her legs to pull her close and hilted inside her with one hard thrust. Her throaty moan made him lose all pretense of control. Praktash watched in fascination as Graznikh pulled her into his arms and caught her lips with his own as he fucked her.  
”You fuckin' little bitch,” Graznikh groaned into her mouth, ”Puttin' us through all this shit just for your own bloody entertainment.” He grabbed her hair with one hand and wrenched her head back, exposing her throat and pressing his fangs against it. ”Not so high an' mighty now, are we? You're no Officer now, just a little slut begging for Orc cock!” Záhovar let out a whimpering moan that made Praktash grin.  
”Serves her right, the little plashnak,” he said as he reclined on the chest next to them, fondling himself. ”Give her a proper what-for!” As Graznikh withdrew, tore her to her feet and flipped her around, Praktash planted his feet against her shoulders to keep her steady and help his buddy. Graznikh entered from behind, reaching around with one hand to finger her. He grabbed one of her breasts with the other. Záhovar began trembling as Graznikh slowed down a little and thrust deep as he wiggled his fingers around the little nub between her legs.  
”That's good,” he growled. ”I ain't lettin' ya go 'til ya come good and hard on my cock. Show Praktash what a good little Orc-slut you are!” Graznikh rumbled as he felt her clench around him and the sound made Praktash tug himself harder. It was a sweet sight, having one of the mighty and untouchable Top Ones degraded to this sniveling wreck. Záhovar grabbed his ankles as she came, using them to steady herself as her legs gave out. Graznikh grabbed her hips and took up the furious pace from before. Soon he locked eyes with Praktash as he came, bucking so hard that Praktash could feel his spasms through Záhovar's shoulders. Moments after that Praktash came a second time, groaning and spattering the Officer's face and neck with his seed.

Graznikh slumped down on the chest with Záhovar in his lap, panting heavily. The Officer looked like she'd passed out.  
”Why d'you do that thing with the fingers?” Praktash asked after catching his breath a little.  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Might as well make her feel a little good too, no?”  
”What for? She fuckin' whipped ya with...” Praktash's voice trailed away as he realised that the wounds on Graznikh's back were gone. He stared at the whip. ”Where're the barbs?”  
”What barbs? That's a baby whip,” Graznikh grinned. Praktash held it up, staring in disbelief.  
”I swear, there were barbs! Polished ones, and blood everywhere every time she smacked you with it!” He gave Záhovar a suspicious look.  
”Illusion,” she said with an exhausted smile.  
Praktash scowled. ”Why? What was the point of that?”  
”Do you fear me?”  
”Fear you?” Praktash sneered. ”No, I-”  
”Then my goal has been reached.”  
Graznikh had been listening to them in silence. Now a wide grin spread on his face. ”Aw buddy, she screwed you over! You screwed her, but she screwed you into screwing her!” Praktash stared at them as Graznikh began laughing.  
”What the fuck is he on about?” he said to himself. Then he looked at Záhovar, who had risen and now sat naked between Graznikh's muscular thighs like a queen on a throne. _Was she always this small?_ He squatted down in front of her. ”So what's this all about? You went to all this effort to... what? Make me not fear you?”  
She nodded. ”Graznikh trusts you and has spoken well of you, so I wanted to meet you myself. But you had an idea of High Officers that blocked all attempt at sensible communication. I needed to tear that wall down, both for Graznikh's sake and your own. You saw me as nothing but a monster from your nightmares, and so I gave you what you wanted and needed. A monster that you could defeat. Do not be upset with him. He never told me about you, it was my own doing.”  
Praktash gave her a lopsided grin and glanced at Graznikh, who was half-lying on the torture chest. ”Nar, we're good. Better, anyway. So what'll it be now? You gonna invade my head like you did Graznikh?”  
”No, that is not within my power. That you do not fear me is enough, for there is truly no reason for you to do so.”  
”I don't fear you, but that doesn't mean I like you. I don't _like_ Top Ones.”  
She smiled a little. ”You need not like them, and there are some you should fear. But not me.”  
  
  
Since Graznikh's bed was gone, they decided to take Záhovar's instead. Záhovar protested, but she was too exhausted from the fucking and the effort to uphold such complex illusions that she could not do much to stop them. Eventually she managed to convince the Orcs that it would be good if they had at least washed off first, so their next stop was the bathroom. She herself was so weak that Graznikh had to carry her, something that made Praktash laugh.  
”I thought Top Ones were supposed to be strong and powerful!”  
”We are,” Záhovar said with a small smile. ”The ability to bend when the storm blows can be as powerful as the ability to fight it.”  
Graznikh chuckled as he put her down on the basin's edge. ”What happened to all the 'power is power' talk?”  
”Things have... changed,” Záhovar whispered. Graznikh nodded solemnly. He and Praktash scrubbed each other off and couldn't resist a bit of friendly bickering over soaps and scrubs that ended with Praktash dumping a bucket of water over his head. Záhovar sat in silence, soaping her own scrub up to wash herself. When Graznikh spotted it he plucked them both from her hands and did it for her.  
”We're a band now; bandmates do stuff for each other,” he grinned.  
”I haven't agreed to anything,” Praktash pointed out. The smile died on Graznikh's face as he nodded, and Praktash regretted his words a little as he saw the raw pain return to his buddy's eyes.  
”I know, I just wanna... y'know, savour the illusion of one big, happy family. At least for a little while, okay?”  
Praktash scooched closer and began scrubbing Graznikh's back. All was silence except for their breathing and the quiet lapping of the water in the basin.  
  
After drying up, they finally found themselves in a proper bed. Graznikh lay in the middle with Záhovar snuggled up close on his right side and Praktash stretched out next to him on his left. The Uruk was watching him with an unreadable expression.  
”What?” Graznikh asked quietly.  
”You never give up, do ya?”  
Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin. ”If I ever did, I might as well just die off.” Then he sighed. ”Can I ask ya something?”  
”You just did.”  
”Ha. Ha ha. Alright, a few things then.”  
Praktash grinned. ”Sure.”  
”So... what happened back there? Why are you so pissed at me? I know some of it's 'cause I ditched ya an' 'cause I told her about ya, but there's more to it, right?”  
Praktash scowled. ”I don't know if...”  
”If this is the right place an' time? When would that be? C'mon, gimme all ya got, I can take it.”  
”It's, well mostly it's something Hîsht said.”  
”Hîsht? Thought she was alright?”  
”She is,” Praktash said, looking away. ”But... I told her. I was drunk an' upset an' I told her everything. An' she called bullshit on the whole thing. And... it made sense at the time.”  
”Everything makes sense when you're drunk,” Graznikh grinned. ”Called me a liar, did she?”  
”Yeah, 'mong other things. If you think about it, it's a pretty insane story, right? What with you an' an elf, going here an' all that.”  
”I know. I probably wouldn't believe myself either if I hadn't been there an' seen the whole thing happen.”  
”So it's true?” Praktash glanced at the sleeping Záhovar.  
”Every single word,” Graznikh whispered.  
”And... that's a She-Elf?” Graznikh nodded. Praktash grimaced and muttered: ”Nice tattoos...” before turning away. Graznikh let Záhovar go and grabbed his head with both hands, forcing the surprised Uruk to face him.  
”Don't turn away. Don't shut me out again. I'm trying to fix this, for fuck's sake!”  
”And what is it you're tryin' to fix?” Praktash whispered.  
” I don't know, since you won't tell me. But I figure it's got something to do with Záhovar. Are ya jealous?”  
Praktash tried to grin, but it was hollow.  
”Look,” Graznikh whispered, ”I can't choose. I want... I want... Skai, I know what I want, I just don't have the words for it!” He let Praktash go and fell back onto the bed. ”I know some guys who finds one person an' go all in for that one. And many who don't give a shit at all, they're fine with fuckin' anyone an' anything and loose interest the moment it's over. I'm not like that. It's not like you an' her are on each side of the fence an' I'm balancin' inbetween. There just _is_ no damn fence!  Praktash...” The Uruk looked at him with an odd expression and Graznikh took a deep breath. ”I'm sorry.”  
Praktash's eyes widened slightly. ”What?”  
”I'm sorry!” Graznikh blurted out a little louder, then lowered his voice again to not wake Záhovar up. ”I'm sorry for puttin' ya through all this. I'm sorry for not trying harder to get news through to ya. I'm sorry for... skai...”  
Praktash grinned a little. ”I'm not pissed with ya, little buddy.”  
”No, but you're upset with me an' pissed with her, an' that might as well be the same thing.”  
”You're that close, huh?”  
Graznikh nodded. ”An' I want...” He gave Praktash a helpless look. ”I don't want you t' leave.” He swallowed as Praktash leaned in and pressed his forehead against his. ”Don't go,” Graznikh whispered. ”Please.”  
  
A grin slowly spread across the Uruk's face. ”'Please'? Seriously?”  
”Yeah...”  
”You've become a downright well-trained little snaga, haven't ya?”  
”Yeah,” Graznikh grinned.  
”Ya gonna beg on your bare knees too?”  
”If I have to.” He couldn't keep down a purr as Praktash crawled on top of him and ran his tongue along his ear.  
”I can think of a few other things you could do while you're down there,” Praktash murmured. Graznikh gasped as he ground his hips down hard against him, groaning quietly.  
”Let's... let's not wake 'er up,” Graznikh whispered with a nod to Záhovar. ”Getting whipped with that toy was nice, but she's got no qualms about bringin' out the heavy stuff if she gets pissed enough.” Praktash lay still for a while, then slid back off and pulled Graznikh into spooning position. Záhovar had turned her back to them. Graznikh noticed the Uruk eyeing her.  
”Say, back there... was that your first time? With a woman, I mean?” Graznikh grinned as he nodded. ”What's it feel like?”  
”Odd,” Praktash muttered, scowling. ”Not sure if I wanna repeat it.”  
”I didn't hear ya complain earlier.”  
”No, but... It just felt odd. The wrong kind of odd.”  
”An' if she asks you for it again?”  
Praktash suddenly looked uncomfortable. ”She'd do that?”  
”Maybe. She might. You weren't exactly bad back there. She likes it rough.”  
Praktash snorted. ”I wouldn't've gotten it up at all if you hadn't started wrigglin' like that.” He whimpered at the memory. ”That was pure evil, right there. Who the fuck does that to a guy, anyway?”  
Graznikh grinned and scratched the Uruk's neck. ”Don't worry buddy, she was just messin' with ya.”  
”Yeah but still... Anyway, I might not get it up at all if she asks for it. But... I guess I could do other things. Fingers an' tongue an' such. If ya show me how.”  
Graznikh nodded with a happy grin. ”So... peace?”  
”Only if you're back for real this time. No more runnin' off with no warning, okay?”  
”I promise,” Graznikh said with a big yawn. ”Skai, it's been a long night.” Praktash settled down with his lips around Graznikh's eartip. Graznikh reached out to Záhovar and pulled her close, sighing happily. If he closed his eyes, he could almost, _almost_ imagine himself back in Dunland, lying on a soft pile of furs in a cave near some silty little river, sandwiched between the only two people in the world that he really cared about. All that was missing was a leg of deer roasting over the fire. _No, wait. Scratch that part. I want it to be aurochs. Fuck yeah, aurochs..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nog-nog, udu-ruk – 8874  
> Hûrk – a military unit consisting of 50 soldiers  
> Makatok – slut, gender neutral  
> Plashnak – vagina, derogatory term for woman


	10. Whispers In The Dark

When Praktash woke up, Graznikh was still asleep. He gave his buddy a sleepy grin and scratched his neck, to wich Graznikh responded with a soft purr, before he sat up. Záhovar was already up and dressed.  
”Breakfast is on the table,” she said without taking her eys off the report she was reading.  
”Even for a floorbound like me?”  
”Why not?”  
Praktash shrugged, not knowing what to answer. He eyed the lavish plate, still suspicious of her motives. Could accepting food be seen as acceptance of the half-spoken offer from before?  
”What is it you want from me?” he asked. ”Is it just... what happened yesternight, or something more?”  
”If you think I went to all this effort to track you down because of a dick I've only seen in Graznikh's memories, you truly have a high opinion of it.”  
”Well, I did give him some sweet moments to remember with it,” Praktash grinned. Then he remembered who and what he was talking to and shut his mouth with a squeak. Záhovar gave him an eerie smile.  
”Unfortunately, you are wrong. I have been told that you are a healer and drugdealer of some skill. You proved yourself quite valuable during your own healing.  
”You need a healer? Can't you get everythin' ya want from the Tower?”  
”I do not intend to stay here. Also, the Tower healers can be bought, persuaded or otherwise made to harm me and mine. They are not to be trusted, as you have already seen. I will not outrule that the one who worked on you tried to immobilise you so that he could kill you under the pretense of your condition worsening.”  
Praktash cursed under his breath.  
”If you leave,” Záhovar continued, ”more attempts to poison your stock will no doubt follow, either to discredit you or to kill me or Graznikh should we seek your aid. Stay, and you will not only have my protection. I can provide you with a proper workshop within the Tower and a secure supply line, should you wish it.”  
”Those are some sweet words,” Praktash muttered. ”What do you want in return?”  
”Graznikh needs you, and-”  
”What do you want in return?” Praktash repeated with a snarl. ”Graznikh may have given himself over no questions asked, but I'm not that stupid. I'm not that easy to snare, Top One.”  
Záhovar put the paper down and gave him a calculating look. Praktash met her cold stare with steady eyes, choking down the familiar terror that came with being scrutinized in this way by a High Officer.  
”I want you as part of my entourage. I-”  
”A snaga, you mean.”  
”If you wish... You will do my bidding, same as Graznikh. You will be permitted to continue your work, but you will report to me who you serve and for what reasons. In return, you will enjoy the same freedom and restraints as Graznikh does.”  
”Includin' bein' exclusive to you in bed?” Praktash snapped.  
Záhovar frowned. ”I have never laid any such restraint on him. Has he said as much? No, I will not stand in your way.”  
”Nar, I just...” Praktash looked away, a bit embarrassed.  
”You assumed that I was jealous of you, and that because of his devotion to me you were but second choice?” Záhovar smiled, a little warmer this time. ”He would show you the same devotion, if you would but let him.”  
”And what the _fuck_ would you know about that?!” Praktash hissed.  
”Not much, but I have felt enough. These past months have been difficult for him. Bond or no, he suffers when you are absent. He grieved as if you were dead, perhaps even more so because he knew that you were not.”  
Praktash turned away, blinking back tears. He was _not_ going to break down in front of a Top One, that was a death sentence. He caught a movement from the corner of his eye and glanced down at Záhovar, who now stood beside him in silence. He hadn't even heard her approach. They remained quiet for a while, and for some odd reason it made him feel better.  
”I do not know these affections you both feel,” Záhovar said. ”I can only feel through him. And through him I can... understand, to some extent.”  
”So... you're just tryin' to replicate what he feels for me?” _Isn't that creepy as all shit..._  
”Not entirely.”  
”Well, that makes everything better, doesn't it?” Praktash replied faintly. Záhovar looked up at him.  
”Do you wish to sit?”  
”I'm a bloody Black Uruk of Blog Shakâmb, I don't... Fuck yes, gimme that chair.”  
  
He slumped down into one of the armchairs around the table. After a permissive nod from Záhovar, he poured himself a mug of some odd, translucent, golden brown liquid. After some hesitation, he poured another and handed it to Záhovar, who seemed surprised. After the first sip he scowled in disgust.  
”Eugh! Where'd they get this shit?”  
”It is from the Star island or one of its colonies, I believe. They brew it from a grain called barley and some kind of bitter herb.”  
”And the Upper Kitchens forces you to drink this swill?” He took another tentative sip and shuddered.  
Záhovar nodded with a languishing look. ”They switch to a new kind every week or so. But they've yet to entertain my request that they add ghâshpau to the drink list.”  
Praktash snorted. ”You like that? Didn't think you Top Ones cared for Orc drink.”  
”It is good for curing seasickness,” she replied absently.  
”I'll keep that in mind if I ever get on a ship,” Praktash grinned. Then he gave her a thoughtful look. ”So you don't feel anythin'? No emotions at all?”  
”I do feel some. Although... not all of them, apparently.”  
”What do you feel?”  
”Fear. Hate. Anger. Pride. Ambition.”  
”And pleasure, evidently.”  
”I do not know if that is a feeling. It seems more akin to pain and discomfort, though at the other end of the scale. It just is.” She studied her mug for a moment before lifting it in Praktash's direction. ”To pain, and pleasure.”  
He gave her a lopsided grin. ”To scales, without which I'd be killin' far more by mistake than you Officers do on purpose.”  
Záhovar laughed a little at that. It was an eerie sound, made even more so by the fact that her smile never reached her eyes. Praktash quickly sorted out his thoughts before speaking again.  
”So, about this deal... It's still a bit of a high price to pay, my life of servitude for a fancy crib an' some herbs.”  
”Do not forget the threat on said life. What do you want, then?”  
Praktash took a deep breath. ”I want the right to say no.” Záhovar's eyes widened as he continued. ”Whatever antics you come up with, I want the right to speak my mind about it without fear of punishment, and the right to opt out if it's somethin' I feel I can't do. And... I want the same for Graznikh.”  
There was a faint gasp from the bed and two red eyes stared at him in shock. As did Záhovar. She looked absolutely livid and Praktash half expected to spontaneously combust on the spot.  
”You have no right to speak for him!” she hissed.  
”Any deal of this sort wouldn't mean ratshit if it didn't include both of us. I'm no snaga and I'll never be, and I sure as fuck won't abandon him to that fate.”  
”And if I refuse? I have the power to keep you apart or together for eternity, according to my wish.”  
”But you won't. You know what Graznikh's like without me, you said so yourself. Imagine what it'd be like if he held _you_ accountable for all that pain.” He refused to look at Graznikh as he spoke.  
For several long moments, they stared each other down. Then something changed in Záhovar's eyes, and Praktash knew he'd won. He'd openly challenged a High Officer and he'd won.

As the collar snapped shut around Praktash's neck, he dearly hoped it would be worth it. He expected an invasion of his mind similar to what Graznikh had described earlier. When nothing happened, he was both disappointed and relieved.   
”I was hopin' for somethin' a little more dramatic, y'know?” he told Graznikh and paused to give him a lecherous grin as he noticed the Orc wore nothing but his collar.  
”So, what happens now? Do we grovel in the dirt and call you 'Master' with every third breath?”  
”If you wish,” Záhovar said with a creepy little smile.  
”Don't give her ideas!!” Graznikh hissed with a pretended look of horror on his face. At least Praktash _hoped_ it was pretended.  
”I will expect you to keep up appearances in public,” Záhovar said, ”but I will not ask that of you behind closed doors.”  
”Weakness'll get us all killed,” Graznikh said while pulling his tunic over his head.  
”Not much different from what I was doin' earlier, then,” Praktash said meekly.  
”Yeah, 'cause breaking tables in taverns is a great way to keep a low profile.”  
”I was drunk! An' it only happened once.” Praktash looked around. ”Where are my clothes?”  
”I had them burned,” Záhovar mumbled absently.  
”You what?! Oh, shut up you!” he snarled at Graznikh, who was snickering so hard he couldn't get his trousers on.  
Graznikh pointed at the chest beside the bed. ”They're in there.”  
”I see the mindfuckin's already started,” Praktash muttered as he opened the chest. Then he frowned. ”These aren't mine.”  
”Nar, you didn't have any when ya got here,” Graznikh explained. ”I scrounged up some new ones for ya 'til they can be replaced.”  
”When you say 'replaced'... what'd you have in mind?” Praktash asked Záhovar.  
”Do you have requests?”  
”Wait, he gets to choose? How come ya dolled me up without my say-so? My gear wasn't even half-bad!” Záhovar gave him an unreadable look and Graznikh frowned. ”Ya mean to make good on it? Really?” Praktash watched their exchange with a confused frown.  
”I take it you did not expect me to keep my promise?”  
”Well... no. No, I didn't. You lost so much with it, an' I thought...”  
”I may gain more by holding to it,” she said softly. Her face was still but there was a brief flicker of emotion in her eyes and through the bond, something that wasn't an imitation of his own or a well practised rehearsal. Graznikh's eyes grew round as the full meaning of the deal Praktash had struck sunk in.  
”No more intrusions?” he whispered. ”No more twistin' my feelings or memories, or diggin' through my mind while I sleep?” She nodded and he slumped down on the bedside while pressing a fist to his mouth.  
”You okay, li'l buddy?” Praktash asked.  
Graznikh nodded in reply. ”I'm fine.” He looked up as Záhovar turned to leave. Defeat and resignation pounded through the bond. ”Záhovar, wait!” He grabbed her shoulders. ”Look at me. You're not losin'. You're not losin' anything. I'm still here, right?” Up this close, Graznikh could see the little blue veins around her eyes. ”You can look through my head if ya wanna, I don't mind that. I've got nothin' to hide from either of ya. Just don't change stuff, that's all I'm askin'. I know you think it'll help me, but it won't. It just makes me even more confused. If you change too much, I won't be able to tell what's real an' what's not in the end.”  
”Nothing is real,” she whispered. Graznikh groaned on the inside. ”I know you think so, but-” He paused when he heard footsteps from behind.  
”Nothing's real, and changin' it won't make it any more so,” Praktash said. ”Changin' stuff's obvious, it leaves trails. Dominatin' without changin' is more subtle, it keeps you in charge even when things change for other reasons.”  
Graznikh gave Praktash a confused look, but the Uruk was busy locking gaze with Záhovar. A tiny crease formed between her eyebrows, then she nodded.  
”Very well.”  
Praktash nodded. Záhovar placed a hand briefly on Graznikh's arm before leaving.  
  
Graznikh kept pestering Praktash for an explanation all the way down to the main gate, but the Uruk refused to answer and brushed his questions away. ”Just drop it, I don't wanna relive that now,” he said as they reached the training grounds.  
”Fine,” Graznikh said. ”But you owe me an answer later.”  
”Sure... _Much_ later.” Praktash winced as he looked around. Graznikh had managed to talk him into sparring, and he almost regretted it now. ”Shit. I keep rememberin' that last time we were here...”  
”There won't be a repeat of that session,” Graznikh grunted. ”If that witch leaps outta the shadows I'm clobberin' her before she has time to introduce herself.”  
Praktash chuckled. ”I'd like to see that!”  
”Sure ya do,” Graznikh grinned. ”Now let's get on with that sparrin'!”  
Praktash hadn't lied when he'd claimed that he was a good fighter. He had some odd moves at times, but Graznikh found he held his ground really well. Praktash's weapon of choice was a rather nasty two handed mace with sharp edges on its head. More often than not Graznikh couldn't block his attacks as they were too powerful, but had to dive and roll to get out of the way or close enough to hit him. The fact that the leering Uruk took every chance to grope him or lick his ears didn't exactly make the sparring easier. Soon they were both panting as much from excitement as from exertion.  
”Bastard,” Graznikh grinned.  
”You said you liked fightin' dirty,” Praktash purred. Their sparring soon turned into a struggle of a different kind. Praktash used the mace handle in an attempt to lock Graznikh against his chest. He broke free with a snarl, rolling once before getting back on his feet. The next moment Praktash was upon him again, a savage leer on his face. His eyes were wide open and the normally oval-shaped pupils were large and round. The irises were barely visible as thin, poison-green glowing circles in two deep pools of complete darkness. As Graznikh shook him off once more he dropped into a squat, almost snaking along the ground with fluid movements. The Uruk was on the prowl, and Graznikh was prey.  
  
The realisation made Graznikh slightly uncomfortable. He had never seen Praktash like this before, never seen the predator in him brought out in the open like this and definitely never been on the receiving end of it. As they paced each other, Graznikh understood what Praktash had meant by rarely having to fight to be left alone in the cutthroat world of Lugburz. The sight of _this_ coming at them would scare any band of thugs shitless. Black Uruk, indeed. _He looks fuckin' scary_ , Graznikh thought as Praktash advanced on him. Soon he found himself caught in a chokehold from which he could not escape no matter how he tried. He chuckled and relaxed.  
”Fine. Ya win this round, buddy.” Praktash didn't reply, nor did he let go. Instead he began dragging him into one of the nearby store rooms.  
”Buddy?” Graznikh began to feel a little worried as the Uruk refused to reply. Still holding him tight, he kicked the door closed behind him.  
”I've missed ya li'l buddy,” he rasped in his ear as he pushed Graznikh face first against the wall and bit his neck just below his ear hard enough to draw a little blood. ”I'm gonna savour this.”  
”What, by rapin' my arse in a bloody store room?” Graznikh asked with a grin.  
Praktash dropped him as if he was a hot coal and previously mentioned arse hit the floor hard.  
”That's what you think this is?” the Uruk hissed, eyes returning back to normal as he stared at Graznikh. Then he threw his hands in the air, cursed and bolted.  
Graznikh felt a compelling urge to facepalm himself. Preferably with a brick. _Imma have my lips sewn together like them other Lug-snaga,_ he thought bitterly as he took off at a run. _Maybe that'd teach me to stop runnin' my stupid mouth._ Praktash wasn't running very fast so he caught up with him quickly, pouncing him from behind when he was close enough. The Uruk spun around mid-stride, catching Graznikh by the waist and crashing to the ground. They rolled twice before coming to an abrupt stop against a wall. After a few moments of gasping, groaning and wincing at the pain, Graznikh straddled Praktash's back and rested his elbows against the Uruk's shoulderblades.  
”Gerroff me,” Praktash grunted.  
”Nope,” Graznikh grinned.  
”Graznikh... Fuck off.”  
”Lay off it, ya touchy bastard! I wasn't serious, an' I didn't mean to upset ya. ”  
Praktash sighed, then he gave Graznikh a sly glance through the corner of his eye. The world spun unexpectedly, accompanied by a growl, and the next thing Graznikh knew was his back pressing into the crude cobblestones.  
”I ain't lettin' no snaga top me,” Praktash growled, but then his face cracked up in a big grin that Graznikh couldn't help but mirror. ”Ya keep sayin' stupid things. Too quick with your mouth, li'l buddy.”  
”Yeah,” Graznikh agreed. ”Maybe I should 'ave my lips sewn like 'em other Lug-snaga, then-”  
”No! Don't say that!” Praktash was suddenly dead serious, staring intently. ”You're no snaga!”  
”If I'm not, then what's this?” Graznikh asked, tugging the collar. ”Everyone already calls me Lug-snaga.”  
”You're no snaga,” Praktash growled, ”no matter what you wear. Don't let her fool ya into believing that. I don't wanna see you reduced to an Officer's plaything, not if I can stop it.”  
”I already am,” Graznikh said with a meek grin. ”But I'm yer plaything too.”  
”You're more than that, ya know.”  
”Am I?”  
Praktash nodded with an odd look in his eyes. Graznikh suddenly had a flashback to a moment when Whin had looked at him with that exact expression, and he understood.  
”Why me?” he whispered.  
”Don't know,” Praktash responded quietly. ”Why me?”  
Graznikh grinned and gently brushed the Uruk's chin with his fist. Praktash took it and pressed his cheek against it, looking at Graznikh with loving eyes.  
”Aw, 'at's farkin' _cute_!”  
”Who's the lady, ya sick buggers?”  
”Give 'er a kiss, g'won!”  
Graznikh groaned as a bunch of snaga began jeering and making kissing noises from as safe distance. Praktash chuckled and stood without letting go of his fist, then pulled Graznikh to his feet. They shared a brief grin, then turned as one and chased the poor terrified snaga through the streets of Lugburz until they couldn't run anymore.  
  
  
Time blurred together as it passed, but it was for the most part a good blur. Drinking, laughing, fighting, fucking – everything was good when it involved Praktash. Graznikh had to try hard to remember a time when he had been this happy. He had them both now and they weren't leaving. Life was simple and clear, he felt ready to take on anything the world could throw in his face.  
Záhovar and Praktash developed the oddest relationship Graznikh had ever seen. They disagreed on almost everything and their arguments often turned so vicious that Graznikh worried that they might try to kill one another. Most of the things they did agree on tended to spell surprise, uncomfortable or otherwise, for him. Graznikh wasn't sure which was better.  
One night he walked in on them sitting crosslegged on the bed, staring at each other in silence with unwavering eyes. Záhovar sat on a pile of pillows to get high enough to look the big Uruk straight in the eye, and she seemed to be in some kind of trance. Sweat trickled down Praktash's shirtless upper body, every muscle was tense and he concentrated as if he was under some immense pressure. The sensation in the air around them made Graznikh's skin itch. He watched them until Záhovar finally broke whatever spell she had been weaving. Praktash fell forward with an exhausted groan as he relaxed.  
”What was all that about?” Graznikh asked as he handed Praktash a towel.  
”I am teaching him how to resist mind control,” Záhovar replied. ”Many of the Officers use it, and Uruks are quite susceptible. Gîrakûn's doing, no doubt. She prouds herself on having 'created' the Black Uruks, though I strongly believe she is exaggerating her own role in the process.”  
Praktash scowled. ”It's... harder than I thought it'd be.”  
”You are doing well. This is one of the most difficult skills to learn.”  
”And what about me?” Graznikh asked. ”You said Uruks were different, but what about other Orcs?”  
”They can be dominated as well, but not you. In part because of our bond; if someone tries it I would know and could counter it if you are not too far away. But you are also a berserker, which renders you more or less immune. This kind of control is very intrusive and will spark a violent reaction if used on a berserker.”  
”...Right.”  
”Word on the floor's that berserkers are like that 'cause they've been 'Seen by the Eye',” Praktash said. He had poured three mugs of booze and placed them on the table.  
”Don't tell me I started that one,” Graznikh muttered as he grabbed one.  
”Nar, it was around long before that. Always figured it was just snaga superstition.”  
”Like the 'don't walk under ladders, you'll end up flattened by an Uruk' one?” Graznikh chuckled.  
Záhovar frowned. ”Explain 'superstition'.”  
”It's like rumours, see?” Praktash said. ”One guy says somethin' that may or may not be true to another, that one tells a third and so on. Somewhere down along the line, what's told gets twisted until it's somethin' completely different and no one remembers what it was at the start or even who started it. But everyone who hears believe it's true, and they all act like it is. Superstition is like that, except with actions.”  
Graznikh reclined in his chair, grinning into his mug as Praktash continued. ”Take this ladder one, for example. Some poor snaga works down in the bagronk, diggin' and cleanin' and whatever. He's so busy doin' his thing that he never notices this drunk Uruk squattin' above to do _his_ thing. And right when the snaga walks under a ladder that just _happens_ to be there, then _smash!_ Uruk guy falls over backwards, pants down, and flattens the poor thing. Of course, someone sees this, tells it to someone else, they have a laugh over the bad luck of walkin' under ladders. A few weeks later, no snaga in Lugburz'll walk under a ladder.” Praktash had to struggle to keep a straight face. ”And then some _bastard_ hangs a ladder above the main gate!”  
”Ya shoulda seen the vice castellan's face,” Graznikh said with a laugh. ”He looked like he was gonna blow any moment!”  
”And you could hear the lashes and the hollerin' of the taskmasters all the way to East Gate,” Praktash chuckled.  
Záhovar smirked a little. ”Disruption of the workings of the Tower is a serious crime. Punishable by death.” Graznikh froze as her voice was suddenly right behind him. He swallowed hard and glanced up into her icy stare.  
”Oh, I'm sure they've caught the culprit by now,” Praktash said with a relaxed smile and winked at Graznikh. ”T'was a long time ago, things're back to normal now.”

  
  
”Do you appreciate, _Officer,_ why we are placed in this situation? What all m- our hard work is for?”  
”You need not lecture me, castellan. I have been briefed, same as you.”  
”Then where are the supplies? Lost on the road? Forgotten in some storehouse on the lower levels? Where?!”  
”Calm yourself, my people are hard at work on the search. They will turn up eventually.”  
”Eventually,” the castellan spat. ”Eventually both our heads will be decorating the main gate on spikes if this continues!”  
”That will not be due to any doing of mine. The garrisons along the route have already been alerted. I cannot relocate more people to the search and defence of the supply lines, for I have no more to spare.” A blindfolded servant came in with a tray. Záhovar took a glass from it without looking and sipped as the castellan continued fuming over the latest report. He waved the servant away without taking the glass meant for him and glanced at Záhovar.  
”Not afraid of poison, I see. With two dead already, I'd have assumed you to be more careful.”  
”Afraid of losing your position? I can... sympathise.”  
The castellan snorted. ”You would rather see your friend Agannâlô in this office, I'm sure.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”Agannâlô? I was not aware he had been thought of.”  
”Indeed. Do not pretend it was not your intrigue that placed him there.”  
”It was not. He is a seasoned warrior, well aquainted with the military of Númenor and the lands along the Great River. He is far more useful in the field, stuffing him in a Tower office would mean losing a valuable commander.”  
The castellan had looked up from his paper and studied Záhovar with a thoughtful frown. ”Truly?”  
Záhovar nodded. ”Whoever recommended him made a grave mistake, or wants us to lose.” She picked the report up from the table. The castellan frowned but made no move to stop her. She quietly read the word 'Morigost' from the list of garrisons lining the supply route north into Morgai.  
”I may have one more thing to try,” she said as she put it back down.  
”And you simply forgot about it up until now?”  
”I did not know if it would be worthwhile.” Záhovar met the castellan's eyes. ”I know we do not always see eye to eye. But there is no reason for further animosity. We are meant to work together on this.”  
The castellan reclined in his chair. ”You have some disgusting habits. But then, who doesn't?”  
Záhovar toasted to that. ”Nothing brings people together like mutual disgust and loathing.”  
That made him laugh. ”Indeed. Are you proposing an... alliance?”  
”Not at the moment. Call it a truce, if you will. Greater threats are looming on the horizon, and Agannâlô is right in one thing – we must work together to defeat it.”  
She felt rather than saw the castellan's sly smile as she left the room. _Bait planted. All that remains is to see if he takes it._  
  
She left the castellan's office and headed for the training grounds. As she passed a narrow alley, deep in shadow, and turned a corner she stopped short. The silvery wraith that was once Jí Indûr barred her way. It beckoned her closer with a hand that trailed icy fog as it moved. As she obliged it bathed her in its Black Breath, the miasma of dread and decay that affected all but the strongest of wills. It brushed off her like morning dew as the wraith seemed to recognise her.  
”Nazgûl,” Záhovar said and bowed curtly.  
_”Thy empty courtesy has little meaning,”_ it hissed.  
”As you wish.”  
_”We have no wish besides that of our Master. But thou...”_ It paced her slowly. _”Thou art... different. More alive than thou were when last we met.”_  
”Our master's presence was fresh in me at that time,” Záhovar hissed back. ”Not so now.”  
_”It is there, as it is in us all.”_ The wraith stopped pacing and turned to face her. Záhovar had to bend her neck to meet its glowing eyes. Unclad as it was, the wraith's eyes sometimes looked as if they were suspended in the air, the rest of its body constantly shifting, blurring and solidifying as if it was not fully there. Every now and then an Orc would come walking up the alley, stop short, cast one glance at her and then turn and flee. Záhovar wondered how much more they could see.  
_”Thou art one of us. We are One,”_ the wraith hissed. _”Remember.”_ It breathed again, and now the Breath turned to solid Darkness. Crushing despair fell like a thick blanket and there was a tearing, wrenching sensation inside as her surroundings turned colourless and blurry. The floor fell away underneath her feet, revealing a gaping maw, filled with a smothering, maddening emptiness that would swallow everything she was if it but could reach, just a little...  
_NO._ There was a flutter as if the fabric of reality which held them both in the present was shaken briefly. The world solidified in an instant and the wraith recoiled.  
Záhovar forced her heart and breath to stay calm as she straightened. Steeling herself and clutching her bond with Graznikh to keep her steady, she took hold of the Wraith-world and looked the Nazgûl straight in the eye. ”I am not one of you. I have a different purpose.”  
_”Indeed.”_ As it saw her fully, there was a flicker of _something_ in its silvery face. _”We expected no less. But the testing was necessary.”_ It almost sounded like an apology. _”The time of revelation is nigh. Thou has a place in it. Remember.”_ She could no longer hold on to the Unseen and ass she let go, she felt rather than saw another flicker before the world returned to colour and the Nazgûl swept past her without another word.  
  
Graznikh was still shaking as Záhovar met him and Praktash at the Tower gate. The moment he spotted her, he let go of Praktash and flung himself around her neck. He let go just as fast as Záhovar hissed at him. Praktash caught him by the neck of his armour before he fell down the stairs. ”Not here,” Záhovar said. ”The walls have eyes. Let us go someplace less open.”  
”Spies?” Graznikh and Praktash exchanged a confused look. ”What happened back there?”  
She glanced over her shoulder as they entered the Tower. ”Nazgûl.”  
Graznikh shuddered. He had heard enough.  
”Fuck,” Praktash exclaimed.  
Graznikh gave him a look. ”You know Black Speech?”  
”No no no,” Praktash said, suddenly terrified. He stopped and crouched as the air grew icy cold around them, twisting and turning his head as if surrounded by enemies. ”It's fuckin' _everywhere,_ ” the Uruk hissed.  
Záhovar stopped, watching a spot of empty air in front of them with a wary expression. Graznikh felt the bond go ice cold as she spoke a few words in a strange tongue. Deep inside, it felt like he should be able to understand it, like there was a connection to _him_ that went back far beyond the years he'd lived. _If she ever speaks like that to me when fuckin', skai I'd be a puddle at her feet in no time_ , he thought with a purr.  
”It's a wraith,” Praktash growled, snapping Graznikh out of the lust-fog. The Uruk was sweating and shaking and Graznikh realised he was trying to resist the siren call of the Black Speech. ”The old witch spoke like that... Made me do things... Made me _like_ it...”  
The wraith hissed and Záhovar replied, but now there was a violent, dismissive tone to her voice. Praktash fell to his knees before he even had time to reflect on it and Graznikh grabbed his shoulder, as much for his own sake as for his buddy's. The empty air in front of Záhovar shifted and she took a step aside. _Something_ swept past the two terrified Orcs, leaving little ice crystals in its wake that glittered in the torchlight.  
  
”Was that... what attacked ya earlier?”  
”No. This was another. It already knew.” They were back in the uncertain safety of Záhovar's quarters, all three tangled up for comfort in the large bed. Several empty mugs, jugs and flasks lay scattered on the floor.  
”Knew what?”  
”The details of the previous encounter. I am not sure but I think... what one knows, the rest knows as well.”  
”I felt like I was back in Blog Shakâmb,” Praktash whimpered. ”There were wraiths there too. They felt a little different, not as strong, but it was still enough to freak the shit outta me.” He swallowed. ”And... I couldn't resist at all. I tried, but it just brushed everything aside.”  
”Do not feel like you have failed. The Nazgûl are difficult to resist even for me. One I can fend off. Against two, I stand no chance. Be glad that I only faced one earlier. If there had been more...” She fell silent with a disturbed expression. Graznikh pulled her close.  
”Well there weren't,” he murmured into her hair. ”An' you're here now. As are you,” he said as he wrapped his other arm around Praktash. Záhovar sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder.  
”I have decided... When the time of revelation comes, I will remove your collars. You are to go to the lower levels, stay there and lay low until I call for you. If I do not call for you, or... If you feel the bond fade... Then you may leave Lugburz. Go someplace else, away from here.”  
”What?” Graznikh breathed. ”No, you can't just leave us like this!”  
”I do not do this lightly. But I will not have you seek a death that is not yours, or have you end up in the clutches of another Officer. Not if I can help it.” She met Praktash's eyes. ”I know you wish that it was just the two of you.”  
”Don't be an idiot,” Praktash said. ”You never had to see what Graznikh's like without ya. I don't want him goin' through that again. An'... I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I don't mind ya. You're okay, for an Officer.” He flashed a grin. ”Ya may be a mindmessin' makatok, but you're _our_ mindmessin' makatok.”  
There was a knock on the door. Záhovar rose with a sigh and retied her robes before going to open it. She exchanged a few words with the servant outside before closing the door again.  
”I must go,” she said as she removed the robe. ”The castellan needs me, or so he claims.”  
Graznikh grinned as he helped her don her armour. ”Still not meetin' yer gaze?”  
”Not even once,” Záhovar smirked.  
Praktash gave them a confused frown. ”What's that about?”  
”I'll tell ya later,” Graznikh chuckled.  
  
  
”...An' then I just shout 'fuck off', but the daft bastard just can't take a hint, see? So he blasts the door clean off an' barges in, thinkin' to drag her out by the hair or somethin'. An' his face when he sees us in the middle of a wild fuck...” Praktash broke down as Graznikh imitated the castellan's shocked and disgusted face, laughing so hard that he was sobbing.  
”An' he still can't meet her eyes after that,” Graznikh laughed. ”It's been what, twenty years? An' he still sees nothin' but Orc cock every time he spots her. Or me.”  
They were sitting in the ale-house, so they were careful not to mention any names whenever they were discussing events in the Tower in case the wrong ears were listening. A few of Graznikh's drinking buddies had joined them and were laughing as well, happily unaware of the fact that the story involved one of the hated and feared Top Ones. Everyone knew that Graznikh and Praktash were Lug-snaga, the evidence hanging around their necks, but the fact that they were both Orcs and warriors despite their snaga status had easened some of the tension and suspicions.  
”Hold on, I haven't gotten to the best part yet,” Graznikh grinned. ”So there he was, green with envy-”  
”Or sick,” one of his little audience chimed in.  
”Or sick,” Graznikh agreed, ”Anyway, when he turns to leave, stumblin' over the pieces of his handiwork, know what I said?”  
All heads shook. Praktash bit his lip.  
”Close the door.”  
The table erupted with laughter.  
  
As the two buddies left the ale-house and rounded a corner, they almost walked right into a group of warriors from the Black Gate. Menacing growls and curses were exchanged as both parties drew weapons. The leader of the group stepped forward, eyeing Praktash with a suspicious frown. ”Praktash..?”  
Praktash stared. ”Hîsht!”  
Graznikh was about to put his knives away when he noticed the Uruk's stiff pose.  
”Still alive, are ya?” Hîsht said with a lopsided grin.  
”Sure am. No thanks to you.” Praktash's expression was more of a challenging grimace than a grin.  
”Anything I should know?” Graznikh asked with a frown.  
”She sold me out,” Praktash said evenly. ”I coulda escaped the dungeons if she hadn't pointed me out to those Black Tarks in the middle of the fuckin' cavern.”  
”I had no choice!” Hîsht snarled. ”I ain't goin' rogue 'gainst the Eye in front o' the whole bleedin' garrison!”  
”Oh, fuck you! That isn't how it works, you know that! The Eye wouldn't go after a lowlife like me, not like that anyway! You coulda told 'em I was out on patrol, they'd been none the wiser.”  
”Well, I didn't! You coulda been less of a stubborn arse an' given 'em what they wanted instead o' fightin'.” She paused and cocked her head. ”An' ya made it out, so what's the big deal? Look at ya now, all dolled up for yer new master. How's the collar fit, Lug-snaga?”  
”Sweet as fuck,” Praktash grinned. ”This little trinket gave me more freedom than you'll ever taste.” He gave Graznikh a quick wink.  
”Oh, that's just cute,” Hîsht sneered. ”I thought you'd gotten over the golug-opatar.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”You hafta come up with something worse than that to insult me, y'know.” Then he noticed something on Hîsht's belt. ”That's a pretty dagger ya got there. Dwarf-make, aye? That what Dachman gave ya after you sold my buddy out?”  
Hîsht took a step back. Praktash frowned and looked at Graznikh. ”Who's Dachman?”  
”Got some history, him and me,” Graznikh growled. ”Tried to kill me twice. Záhovar more than twice. Killed Zuzar out from under me. He owes me in blood thrice over.”  
Praktash suddenly looked painstricken. ”No... not Zuzar!”  
”Yeah. Zuzar.” Graznikh's face twisted with hate. ”And now I find his mark here, on a turncoat twat that I hear sold my best buddy out into years of torture for a pretty knife.”  
Praktash looked confused at first. Then his eyes widened and he turned to Hîsht. ”You _worked_ for the bastard that wanted Graznikh an' me dead?”  
”I didn't poison it,” Hîsht blurted out.  
Graznikh grinned. ”Poison? We didn't mention any poison, did we buddy?”  
”Nar,” Praktash growled. ”Nar, we didn't. Now how did you know about that? I'd been transferred long before, an' you weren't even close to Morgai when it happened!”  
Hîsht snarled. ”You think we're gonna let a soddin' golug saunter into the Tower like this? I don't care who dies, that just ain't gonna happen!”  
”Well, that makes things clear as piss then,” Graznikh said with a bloodthirsty grin. ”You _have_ gone rogue 'gainst the Eye!”  
  
He didn't get the chance to say something else. Praktash had stood quiet for a while, his face shifting between shock, bewilderment and grief several times before suddenly twisting in fury as it all finally sunk in. The Uruk roared as he charged, throwing himself at Hîsht so fast that she barely had time to lift her own weapon. The sparring had paid off and Praktash blocked her incoming blows with ease. There was a crunching sound as he brought his mace down on her back, denting the armour and shattering her spine. Hîsht let out a strangled cry as she fell. Her followers descended on him like vultures but Graznikh was not far behind, shielding his buddy's back as they cut through the attackers. Three more fell, and soon the remaining enemies turned and ran. Praktash let out a snort like a pissed off war horse, then turned to leave. He spun around as he heard a hiss, but there was no one there. Then he looked at Graznikh, who was squatting next to Hîsht.  
”Will ya look at that,” he grinned. ”looks like she's still alive.”  
”Back off,” Praktash growled. Graznikh obeyed; this was Praktash's kill.  
Hîsht had been completely paralyzed and could only stare in hate and fear as Praktash knelt beside her.  
”I hope this was all worth it,” he said before bringing his mace down and smashing her skull. ”You traitorous cunt.”  
  
Graznikh gave Praktash an appreciative grin and a pat on the back. ”I'm proud of ya, mate.” Then he frowned as Praktash gasped. He had the oddest expression as his eyes began to water, and he pressed his fist to his mouth as he collapsed against the wall and sank to the ground. Graznikh thought hed been injured at first but saw no blood. Then he stared, gaping at the sobbing Uruk. _He's... crying?_ A moment of shock kept him standing. He had no idea Orcs _could_ cry. Then he remembered all the times he'd held Whin and even Záhovar as she cried. _I know how to deal with this._ He squatted down next to Praktash and tried to give him a hug, but the Uruk jerked away.  
”I don't want you to see me like this,” he whimpered as he turned aside. Graznikh grinned. After a few moments, Praktash glanced up at him. ”What?”  
Graznikh brushed away a tear from Praktash's cheek with a finger before he spoke. ”I wiped yer arse an' changed yer sheets when you lay wounded up in the Tower. You think a pint o' eye-water's gonna turn me away now, after all we've been through?”  
Praktash looked like he was going to start bawling at any moment. ”I can't believe she did that,” he whimpered as he leaned into Graznikh's arms. ”I've known her ever since I came to Lugburz. She never seemed to... want to do something like that, never...”  
”People change over time. And just 'cause someone's yer nanny doesn't mean they're a decent one. This place changes stuff, twists it all subtle-like.”  
”What're you talkin' about?”  
”Maybe you don't feel it, seein' as ye're bred an' birthed here. But there's this odd _feelin'_ , crawling at the back o' yer mind, makin' it easier to kill, to betray, makes ya more an' more selfish an' cruel for no reason at all.”  
”Are ya sayin' I wouldn't have killed her if we weren't in Lugburz?”  
”No, she had it comin' after all the shit she's done. I'm sayin' she might not've done the things she did if we weren't in Lugburz. Or maybe she would, I don't know. Could be that Dachman tore into her mind too. Wouldn't surprise me if he did.”  
Praktash frowned. ”Sounds like I got a boil to pick with this Dachman fellow too, now.”  
”You're gonna get all vengy on his arse, are ya?”  
”Vengy...” Praktash let out a weak laugh. ”Stop abusin' the bloody language, Graz!”  
”I'll continue if it makes ya laugh,” he grinned. ”Ya need another drink?”  
”Fuck yes, gimme!”  
_Záhovar,_ Graznikh thought as he tugged the bond to get her attention. _We_ have _to kill Dachman now. There's no escapin' it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> golug-opatar - Elf-fancier


	11. Sex, Drugs And Rock'n'Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Petrified" by Mesh

Graznikh was at the ale-house when they found him. He was happily sampling the latest batch of booze that had come in from Hithlad and chatting away with another patron when an Orc he didn't recognise trotted up to him, flanked on both sides by two burly Uruks.  
”Graznikh, D gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak?” the Orc said. As Graznikh nodded with a confused smile, he jotted something down on the writing board. ”You've been picked for stud duty. Report to Pitmaster Gradhûr when you've finished whatever stuff ya got up here. Good luck!”  
The smile froze on Graznikh's face. The one he had chatted with leered and said something that he couldn't hear, patting his back in congratulation. Others cheered.  
”No thanks,” he heard himself saying.  
The pit worker stopped in mid-stride and turned to give him an incredulous look. ”You what?”  
”No thank you,” Graznikh repeated a little firmer. ”Give that task to someone else, I ain't going.”  
The silence in the ale-house was so profound that he thought he had gone deaf for a moment.  
”Are you fuckin' _crazy_?!” the pit worker exploded. ”This is a fuckin' _honour_ , ya can't be serious!”  
”I ain't gonna stick my dick in some half-dead Orc twat,” Graznikh spat at him. ”They can keep their bloody honours, I already got all the plashnak I want!”  
The pit worker groaned. ”Not one o' _those,”_ he muttered. Then he nodded to his lackeys. ”Get 'im!”  
The assault took Graznikh by surprise, but pure instinct made him dodge and evade getting caught. He couldn't fight two big Uruks and the other Orc was no help as he was busy laughing so hard he had to lean against the table to not lose his footing and get trampled. Graznikh bolted.  
  
Záhovar was walking out from a rather aggravating meeting with a few of the other Officers when she felt Graznikh's panic through the bond. The next moment he came barging into the corridor with two Uruks in hot pursuit. He fell to the floor almost at her feet and they began pummeling him.  
”Enough!” she snapped, turning on them with a hiss. ”How dare you assault my snaga?!”  
”Záhovar!” Graznikh gasped as they backed off. Záhovar stared at him as he latched onto her leg, hugging it like he would never let go. The same moment she heard shocked gasps from behind, and realised the other Officers were witnesses to the whole thing. She groaned on the inside.  
”They wanna drag me into the pits!” Graznikh whimpered. ”They wanna... use me as a fuckin' _breedin' stud!_ ” He gave her a pleading look. ”I told 'em I ain't goin'. I'm _yours_ for fuck's sake!”  
”I was under the impression that this was a great honour for a warrior,” Dachman said from behind, barely hiding the smirk in his voice. He stopped beside her with an amused smile playing upon his lips. ”And this one could have been,” he continued. ”It is strong, fairly clever for its kind, and it is capable of acquiring followers. It has, perhaps, the makings of a Low Officer and probably would have been one had you not reduced it to _this_.” His lips curled with disgust as he looked down at Graznikh, who glared back with unbridled hate in his eyes.  
Záhovar met Dachman's satisfied smirk with a cold look. He had her trapped, and he knew it. There was no way she could get Graznikh out of this without losing face and exposing herself as an... Orc fancier.  
When her hand reached down to stroke his ear, Graznikh let out a sigh. He was safe. Then he cried out as it twisted the tip painfully, forcing him to look up.  
”You will do your duty,” Záhovar said coolly. ”I will take you back into my service when you have completed the task.”  
Graznikh couldn't believe it. ”No,” he whispered. ”No, you can't do this to me. You can't!” He was torn away from her leg and shackled. ”I can't do this!” he shouted at her as she turned away. ”I belong to you, I can't fuck someone else! I'm fuckin' _yours_!!” He turned on the Uruks but was quickly beaten into submission.  
Dachman was laughing quietly as the Uruks dragged the disobedient Orc away. ”Most interesting. It acted as if you had sent it to the dungeons, not the breeding pits. I am not sure I want to know exactly what you did to gain such a... loyal snaga. I am sure it must please you greatly, such devotion.”  
”I got some contacts down in the pits,” the Captain of the first of Lugburz's three garrisons said. He was a grizzly Uruk with so many scars in his face that it was difficult to tell what he had once looked like. ”I could send word when his litter's born, let ya see it. Maybe one o' his young has the same big... eagerness to please.”  
Zàhovar took a deep breath before responding, amazed that her voice remained free of emotion. ”It is enough that he does his duty. I will make do without his services for a while.”  
”Sacrificin' for the greater good, eh?” The Uruk chuckled. ”'At's right, you got an Uruk at yer feet too now, so I've heard. 'At's more like it. Still wonderin' how ya managed that. Must've taken lots of... convincin'.”  
Záhovar could hear Dachman gasping for air, struggling to keep himself from laughing out loud. She did not understand why the situation enraged her so. She was ridiculed and had lost face, but it was more than that. The thought of Graznikh laying with another set her insides on fire as if He had touched her, burning with jealousy for reasons she could not identify. Záhovar had watched Graznikh and Praktash do the act many times and she had thoroughly enjoyed watching. Why was this different?  
The Uruk Captain leered at her. ”I'm not surprised though. Ya were a wild fuck right from the start.”  
As Záhovar met his pitchblack eyes, she recognised him. He was one of the Uruks that her first mentor had employed to rape her. The mentor had later become Graznikh's first kill for her. Now Záhovar thirsted for blood and had a perfect chance at revenge. To the Void with the consequences.  
  
Graznikh had given her some pointers on how to improve her armour, and one was to add a small, sharp steel claw to each fingertip on her gauntlets, an imitation of the claws that Orcs had naturally. These came in handy now. As the Uruk made a move to catch her, no doubt with the intention of repeating the violation, she dug them deep into his flesh as she grabbed the package between his legs. The Uruk howled in pain and shock, but Záhovar held fast, moving with him and burying her other hand in his shoulder as he tried to free himself. She couldn't keep a shuddering gasp from escaping as she felt his body convulse; she had been so busy enjoying simpler pleasures with her two pets that she had almost forgotten how good _this_ felt. To hold life in her hands, drain it excrutiatingly slow, _feeling_ it leave with every panicked breath – the Uruk was now beyond screaming and began slowly collapsing against the wall as his body convulsed. Záhovar moaned as pleasure washed over her with every frantic beat of his struggling heart.  
Just as she was about to finish, the air became cold. She reluctantly withdrew as the Nazgûl descended upon the dying Uruk. Two of the other Officers hurried closer, thinking she had abandoned him, but stopped short as the invisible wraith hissed.  
_”Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey,”_ came the screeching warning and the Officers paled as they backed away. Dachman had stopped laughing. Záhovar could see the wraith's silvery, flickering form lick the Captain's neck with obscene pleasure and feel the pull of the Wraith-world as it drew his life into it. Soon the Uruk Captain was nothing but a twisted corpse on the ground with a growing puddle of black blood between his thighs. The Nazgûl turned towards her, but this time there was no assault. It simply held out a ghostly hand.  
_”Come. Be One.”_ As she met its unearthly gaze, she found it held an intense yearning, longing and loneliness.  
”I follow another path,” Záhovar replied. The Nazgûl watched her in silence for a while, then it strode away with fluid movements. She turned to face the other Officers, and found that she was alone.  
  
  
When Graznikh woke up, he thought for a second that he was in Záhovar's dungeon. Then everything came crashing down and he tugged his chains. He sat in a small cell, buck naked on a dirty mattress stained with spunk both new and old. On the floor in front of him four iron rings protruded from the stone, but he couldn't figure out what their purpose was. The sounds and scents of rut were all around him, making it hard to think. _She abandoned me. She ditched me to_ this _and turned her back. Praktash doesn't even know where I am. Will she tell him, or let him search high an' low for me?_ He felt sick from the betrayal and hammered the bond with his mind, unable to pierce the slick blackness that was her shield. _I hate you,_ he screamed in his mind, _and I love you! I can't do this, I'll be in here 'til I die if you don't do anythng!_  
He glanced up as the door was unlocked. A wizened old Orc hag came in, dragging a younger Orc woman who might have been good-looking if not for the numerous bite marks marring her face, neck and breasts. When the hag let her go she lay down on the mattress next to him and spread her legs, staring at the wall with an listless look. _She looks so young._ Graznikh stood.  
”I ain't doin' this,” he growled.  
The hag cackled. ”'Eard about ya. Won't do 'is duty, they said. Well, we've 'ad folks like ya 'ere before. Ya will soon, whether ya like it or not. She ain't carryin' yer spawn, ya ain't leavin'.” With that she left, locking the door behind her. Graznikh roared with futile rage and sank down against the far wall.  
”Jus' get it done,” the Orcess said after a while.  
”No,” Graznikh growled.  
”Ya don' hafta go all th' way in. Ya can... I don't know, think o' yer boyfriend or whatever an' yank yer meat, then stick the tip in when ya spunk.”  
”If ye're tryin' to seduce me, ye're failin' miserably.”  
She snorted quietly. ”Fine then. We'll just be here 'til we die.”  
  
Meanwhile, Praktash was in the middle of finding out that things had changed since he last set up shop in Lugburz.  
”Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?” he growled at the snaga standing in his drugshop acting like he owned the place.  
”Well, it's too fuckin' expensive! There's this guy down by the warg pens what sells this shit for half that price, an' it works just as well, too!”  
”Well then,” Praktash growled softly. ”Why dontcha go to him then? If his stuff is as good as mine, works just as fine, go buy from him! But don't come runnin' when his stuff gives ya a rash, that's your own damn fault.”  
The snaga hesitated. ”Bet the Uruks ain't payin' that price!”  
”If you're not gonna pay up, then get. The fuck. Out!”  
Grumbling about other people charging less and Uruks paying less, the snaga finally threw some tokens into his hand and left with the salve. Praktash groaned and rubbed his temples. Who knew the snaga in Lugburz could be this bitchy? _With Black Uruks runnin' all over the place now, you'd think they'd gotten some respect lashed into them. One would think..._  
Someone entered the door, breaking him from his reverie. Praktash felt his mouth go dry as he met the Black Uruk's cocky glance.  
He had well-forged armour that looked to have seen some battle. On his back was strapped a shield with the symbol of Blog Shakâmb painted on and he had a simple sword at his hip that looked out of place with the rest of his gear. But that wasn't what made Praktash stare. _Blisterin' bagronk, he's fuckin' hot!_ The guy had the finest arse Praktash had ever seen, barely hidden behind the loincloth. He also had some really nice muscular thighs and well-developed upper arms. The rest of his body was covered by the armour, but Praktash's fantasy was already running wild all over the place. _You're with Graznikh, you horny idiot! Got no time or place for toyin' on the side._ Graznikh had never explicitly asked him to be exclusive, but judging by how possessive the pale Orc was in general Praktash had no doubts that Graznikh would be livid if he found his buddy fooling around with other guys.  
  
The other Uruk deliberately ignored him, swaggering along the aisles, studying the bottles and jars. After a while he gave Praktash a 'come-hither' glance over his shoulder. After picking his jaw up from the floor and hiding his raging boner behind the counter, Praktash decided to break the awkward silence and had to make a conscious effort to keep the horny purr out of his voice.  
”So, can I help ya?”  
Hot Guy turned to look at him with a sly grin. ”I'm thinkin' you can, at that.” He had an unusually deep voice even for an Uruk, but unlike most others it was soft and pleasant to listen to.  
_Oh, for fuck's sake,_ Praktash thought as he noticed Hot Guy's quivering nostrils as he approached and stopped right in front of him. _Don't tell me he's sniffin' me out._  
”Got back from a march out east. Armour wasn't fitting properly, so I got a bit of a chafe. Armour's fixed, but the chafe keeps itchin'. Got anything for that?”  
”I'll need to take a look to know.” _Oh, stop grinnin' like that!_ Praktash wasn't sure if he told himself or Hot Guy.  
Hot Guy gave him a calculating look. ”Got anyplace more... private?”  
_Did he just hit on me?_ ”Back in the clinic. Just gotta shut the place down. Damn snaga'll steal everything not glued down if they get half a chance.” _This is_ not _goin' the right way. Or is it?_  
Hot Guy chuckled at that. Praktash gave him a little smirk as he passed. Once at the door, he managed to calm himself somewhat and get his body back under control. _I'll probably need all the calm I can get for this._  
Hot Guy had removed his chestplate when Praktash entered the combined distillery and clinic. The horny part of his brain let out a warg-howl as the shirt went the same way. He quickly fixated his attention on the task at hand to keep his mind off Hot Guy's scarred abs.  
”Ouch,” he said flatly as he examined the chafe in Hot Guy's armpit. It wasn't so much a chafe as a lightly festering flesh wound. ”You'll need more than salves an' poultices to fix this shit. The dead parts need removin'.”  
”Will I lose the arm?”  
”You'll lose more'n that if ya let this fester more,” Praktash snorted.  
Hot Guy grinned. ”So who would ya recommend for surgery?”  
”Couple o' guys,” Praktash replied with feigned flippancy. ”One of 'em's right here.” he picked up a sharp knife and gave Hot guy an intimidating grin. ”'Fraid of a little knifework?”  
Hot Guy's face cracked up in a challenging leer that made Praktash feel a little faint from local bloodloss. ”Bring it on, sweetie. Make it good.”  
  
Hot Guy didn't even flinch as the knife dug into his hide.  
”So what's a guy from Blog Shakâmb doin' in Lugburz?” Praktash asked, trying to keep the small talk going.  
”Got transferred. No idea why, but 'at's how it is.”  
”Yeah, wheel o' war an' all that.”  
”Got a hunch though.”  
”Oh?”  
”I'm thinkin' something big's comin'.” Praktash froze for a moment as his mind flooded with dirty hidden meanings. ”Lotsa troops movin' west an' south,” Hot Guy continued, seemingly unaware of the reaction. ”We're losin' supply lines from the River an' the south. Bloody raiders. I'm thinkin' the war's gonna get hitched up a notch or two.”  
”Hnh. Then I know what I'll be doin' for the comin' years.”  
Hot Guy glanced at him. ”Oh?”  
”Makin' stuff for the army, of course.”  
”Right.” He kept watching Praktash as he worked. He had finished cutting the dead and festered parts off and cleaned the wound out. Then he smeared the profusely bleeding wound with a poultice that would stop the bleeding and keep it from festering again. Last, he bandaged Hot Guy's shoulder.  
”Ya got an odd line 'o work for an Uruk,” Hot Guy commented as Praktash went over to the basin to wash the knives he'd used.  
Praktash shrugged. ”I'm doin' it better than the snaga.”  
Hot Guy chuckled and shot the slave collar around his neck a telling look, but did not inquire further.  
”Ya want somethin' done around here, you go through the Top Ones,” Praktash said, acknowledging his glance.  
”Never liked that nickname. They're Lug-durbatar.” Hot Guy's voice was suddenly too close by, slithering into his ear like a snake as heavy hands landed on his hips and a hardon pressed against his rear.  
”Maybe I should discipline ya,” Hot Guy purred, ”teach ya to respect yer betters, Lug-snaga.” As his fangs found his neck, Praktash panicked. The surgeon's knife went to Hot Guy's throat in the blink of an eye and he took a step back with a surprised look.  
”Not keen on bein' disciplined? We can do it some other way, if ya like.”  
”Get. Out,” Praktash squeaked, still holding the knife up. Hot Guy took another step, held up his hands with an 'okay I get it' kind of expression, then he walked out without another glance. He even closed the door calmly as he left. Praktash collapsed on the counter, gasping for air.  
_That's it. Never seein' that one again for sure._  
  
  
As time passed, Graznikh endured. He refused to eat or drink, knowing both would probably be spiked with drugs. His suspicions were confirmed when he smelled the Orcess' increasingly strong arousal. Soon she was writhing and panting on the mattress, begging him to fuck her. He doggedly refused.  
Graznikh had once lived in a stronghold. He knew what a good life for cubs was, and this wasn't it. He wasn't going to put litters to the world knowing they'd just be screws in the war machine, forever thrown from one encampment to another in the constant transfer of soldiers. The chance that any of them would ever make it further than grunt level was slim at best, and the chance of them making it out of here was nonexistant. Graznikh wasn't going to put his cubs through this, even though he'd never see them he'd know of their existence, and that was enough.  
At more than one point he had to throw the lust-crazed Orcess off as she began groping him. Soon he didn't even dare to sleep, knowing that she'd probably try to rape him in his sleep. After a while the hag returned, thoroughly upset that he hadn't gotten his shit together yet. With her she had two large Orc females. Graznikh realised that they must be like Hîsht, made barren by a sword to the gut and now working as guards where fertile males would only get in trouble. Now they grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees.  
”Les'see how much fightin' spirit ya have left after the matin' drug's run through ya a bit,” the hag cackled. The guards tried to pry his mouth open, but Graznikh clamped his teeth shut with a growl, refusing to swallow the liquid that the hag tried to pour into him. She pinched his nose, giving him the choice to swallow of choke to death. There was no true choice. The moment he gasped for air the bottleneck and its contents were shoved into his mouth and a hand rubbed his throat to make him swallow. He vomited hard, but it was too late. The Orc hag cackled as he gasped and spat on the floor. Then the mattress was dragged out to the center of the cell and the shackles of his hands and feet were hooked to the iron rings in the floor. He was now secured on top of the writhing young Orcess, unable to escape as he rubbed her wet sex against his dick.  
”Try not to fuck 'er now,” the hag cackled as she shut the door. Graznikh cursed loudly at her as the rising despair crawled all over his guts like little spiders.  
  
The drug came on slowly, making his dick hard without him even being horny. Avoiding the Orcess' advances became a struggle that he ultimately failed. He groaned as she hooked her legs around his hips and forced herself on him. _They don't need no drugs to make me complete this,_ he thought as she rode him upside down. He was in the middle of a 'think of Mordor'-attempt when all coherent thought suddenly left his brain and his head exploded with _horny._ His senses flared and he almost panicked from being overwhelmed by sensations. Graznikh bellowed as instinct took over and he thrust wildly. His ears heard the extatic screams as he bit down hard without focus or aim but it was as if his brain would not register it. He soon spent himself, but the intense horniness and hypersensitivity would not go away. He screamed, barely registering that the woman underneath him was replaced by another. Once again he bucked frantically, trying to find release from the constant assault on his senses, unaware of the screams of pain from underneath. Again a change, over and over until he was suddenly alone, shaking on the mattress and howling in despair.  
  
When Graznikh had been gone for two days, Praktash finally gathered enough courage to face Záhovar. Putting on his most threatening stance, he hunted the High Officer down in her quarters, which he hadn't visited since Graznikh's disappearance.  
”Alright,” he growled as he pushed the door open. ”Where is he? I know you've got-” Praktash stopped short, letting the door slide shut behind him. Záhovar was lying on the bed, eyes glassy, her face contorted in a soundless scream and her body twisting with spasms so hard the bed shook. The stench of intense dread filled the room. The sight was so disturbing that Praktash almost ran, but then he steeled himself. _I have to find out where he is!_ He tried to sense the presence of Nazgûl but found nothing. Then he hurried over to Záhovar, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her lightly.  
”Hey!”  
His touch seemed to snap her out of the strange seizure. As she met Praktash's eyes, her own suddenly overflowed with tears and she began crying. Praktash was perplexed. _She's_ crying _? She's not supposed to cry, she's a Top One!_  
”Hey, get a grip,” he said, shaking her again. ”Where's Graznikh? He okay?”  
”He is in the... breeding pits.”  
”The breeding pits?” Praktash chuckled and relaxed. ”Can imagine he wasn't happy to get that 'honour'. So what happened?”  
”He did not want to go. He... came running to me, held my leg... in front of the other Officers. He begged me to stop it, to not make him do it.” Her eyes brimmed over again. ”I chose to save face instead of helping him. I let the pit guards take him away. In the end, it made no difference.”  
”No difference?”  
”One of the Low Officers, the Captain of the first garrison... he was one of the Uruks that raped me on the order of my first mentor, the one Graznikh killed on the training grounds. He confessed that I had... consorted intimately with Orcs.”  
”He told everyone what a good little Orc-slut you are, didn't he? Did you kill him?”  
”Yes, but it made no difference. Dachman was there as well. Where there were only rumours before, there is now confirmation.”  
”And now Graznikh's in the pit. Don't worry, I'll get him out. I know folks there.”  
”It's not the only thing,” Záhovar gasped. Praktash frowned as her body stiffened again. ”They... gave him something... when he refused to cooperate... I cannot shut it out, no matter how I try!” Her eyes widened in panic and she let out a strangled scream.  
”Matin' drug,” Praktash nodded. He had almost forgotten its existence. When he lived down near East Gate, he used to make it for the pitmasters to use when subduing unruly breeders. He had even tried it himself once, just to see what it was like. It had been the worst drug trip he'd ever experienced, made worse by the fact that there had been no one there to alleviate the effects of it at first. A painful memory surfaced, of how his then steady fuckbuddy had walked in on him and how he had assaulted him mindlessly, unable to control himself. That had been the end of that relationship. He also knew that it could take days for the effects to wear off if one did not find release. _I had no idea they were giving it to males these days._ At least Graznikh would be more or less forced to alleviate.  
”Wait, you feel it too?”  
As he watched Záhovar's expressions, he realised it was true. The drug caused some really intense sensations, Graznikh had probably lost it and was feeding it to her without mercy through the bond. Praktash groaned. Maybe she would calm down once the effects wore off in Graznikh, but there was a slight risk that they'd keep giving it to him if he failed to fill his quota on one dose.  
”So... You're horny? Should I do somethin' about it?”  
”Horny?” Záhovar hissed. ”It _hurts!_ Everything hurts, it is agony!” She was visibly distressed, and Praktash frowned.  
”But... the matin' drug isn't supposed to hurt, just make ya horny and really sensitive. I'd know, I used to make the stuff.”  
Záhovar took his hand and gave him a pleading look. ”Go to him, please,” she whispered. ”Get him out of there, if you know of a way. I cannot do so myself... Because...”  
”Yeah, it'd look bad on ya, gettin' involved in that kind of stuff,” Praktash nodded. ”Don't worry, I'll sort this out.”  
  
A while later, Praktash sauntered up to the entrance to the breeding pits and hailed the guards.  
”Hey Prak, gotten lost on th' way to th' snaga dens?” one of them chuckled. His staunch preference for males was a well-known fact here, and that along with his skills as a healer made him one of the few fertile males free to come and go as they pleased in the breeding pits.  
”Nar, came to check on a buddy o' mine,” Praktash said with a friendly grin. ”Heard he got chucked in here, thought I'd see how he's doin'.”  
”Poor guy, if 'e's one o' _your_ 'friends',” the guard laughed. ”Name an' number?”  
Graznikh, D gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak.”  
The guard frowned. ”That one? Huh. Not surprised, really.”  
”Why, what happened?” Praktash asked as she escorted him down into the pits.  
”Refused to do 'is thing,” the barren Orcess explained. ”They got 'im drugged, an' 'e went sorta crazy. Still screamin' at anyone who comes close.”  
Praktash scowled. ”Musta had a bad trip. Ya didn't know he's a berserker?”  
”What?! Shit! Glad 'e didn't kill any o' the poor girls.” Soon they reached a long corridor with mating cells on each side. Several of them were occupied, and Praktash tried to shut the sounds and scents out as they stopped in front of one of them. As the door was unlocked, Praktash entered the small cell and found his buddy huddled up in the darkest corner. He didn't look up or made any sign of being aware that the door had opened.  
”Graz?” Praktash asked as he squatted beside him.  
”Are you real this time?”  
”Yeah, I'm real. Bad trip, huh?” Graznikh muttered something incoherent. ”Whazzat?”  
”How'd you get in?”  
”Walked in through the door,” Praktash grinned. ”What, you thought I got carried?”  
”Why'd they let ya in? Thought the place was under lock an' key.”  
”It is. But I know the Pitmaster, used to deliver... stuff here. An' sometimes I help 'em, on the rare occasion that a female needs more than simple stitchin' to get them through a tough delivery. He knows I ain't interested in the ladies, so I come an' go as I please.”  
”Then where were ya? Been down here for nights...”  
”Two nights, actually.”  
Graznikh looked up with a haunted expression. ”Just two? Feels like... a week at least.”  
”The matin' drug can make the passin' of time seem a li'l wonky. Don't worry, it'll sort itself out once the aftereffects are gone.” Praktash grinned and patted his shoulder, making him flinch convulsively. ”Oops, sorry.”  
Graznikh didn't answer and seemed to retreat back inside himself again. The smile disappeared from Praktash's lips. ”You okay, buddy?”  
”No, I'm not 'okay'!” Graznikh snapped. ”I've been beaten, hunted, betrayed, chained up, drugged an' raped, an' you ask me if I'm 'okay'? Fuck off!”  
”You want outta here or not?” Praktash growled. ”Go be pissed at someone who deserves it instead o' barkin' at me. I didn't put ya here!”  
”Can't very well do that from in here, can I? Won't make a difference for my cubs, any way.”  
”Your cubs..?” Praktash let out a confused laugh. ”That's what this is all about?”  
Graznikh gave him a sulking look. ”What of it?”  
”Don't worry li'l buddy, they'll be well cared for.”  
”Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me? Have you seen this place? They'll be nothin' but grunts, sent off to die in some stupid war-”  
”Hey now, what d'you know of how cubs live in here?”  
”It ain't a stronghold, izzit? I don't want my cubs to be snaga or grunts.”  
”So they'd never hafta fight in your precious stronghold?”  
”'Course they would, but-”  
”Then i ask again; what the fuck do you know?! A cub's life here is good! Ya got tons o' playmates who you know can take whatever ya throw at 'em, ya get fed an' cared for at every turn. Only the Captains have it better.”  
”What do _you_ know 'bout that?”  
  
Praktash grinned. ”Ya think I've been a big, burly Uruk all my life? Nar, buddy. I used to be like you. All Uruks were, once. We were just regular cubs, little Orclings who happened to be noticed for bein' stronger an' smarter than the rest. We got singled out, sent to Blog Shakâmb if we weren't born there an' done some sorcery on. I don't remember any of that; first I'm standin' there, lookin' stupid while some Black Tarks argue over my head, next I'm torn outta some sack in the mud, lookin' much like ya see me now. No idea what they did.”  
”That why all Uruks are such smug bastards? 'Cause ya think ye're better'n us regular folks?”  
”Yeah, we are. We're Uruks 'cause we're better an' we're better 'cause we're Uruks.” Praktash chuckled at Graznikh's scornful scowl. ”But that's not my point. Ya don't need to worry 'bout your cubs. They'll be fine, at least 'til they reach the age for trainin'. That's when the tough life starts.”  
Graznikh made a little grimace. ”I just hoped... Bah.”  
”No, don't stop. What'd you hope for?”  
”I thought... Or, I wanted... for my cubs to come from her.” He nodded upwards and Praktash's eyes widened.  
”You... wait, ya wanna spawn _Záhovar??_ ” Praktash fell over backwards in surprise, gasping for a moment before he burst out into laughter.  
Graznikh growled a warning. ”Ye're bein' real helpful here,” he sneered. ”Maybe I shoulda poked fun at ya for endin' up in that dungeon instead o' focusin' on helpin' ya out.”  
”I didn't mean... I'm sorry Graz,” Praktash said, forcing the laughter down. ”It's just... Nevermind. I'll get ya out. Gimme a moment.” He rose and left Graznikh to his own dark thoughts.  
_Bloody smug bastard. Whin... Oh, Whin..._ He tried to shake the memories of the horrible visions from his head. As the drug had taken hold, every female they placed underneath him had worn Whindaër's face, contorting in pain and anguish as he raped her over and over. The Dark Lord had been there too, glaring at him from behind, silently commanding him to do his duty like a good little snaga. Only it wasn't Him, or not the being Graznikh had seen with his own eyes up in the Tower. It had been a giant, terrible, all-seeing Eye, but not one at the same time. An Eye that wasn't an Eye, boring into him with such intensity that he withered underneath it. And he had seen Whindaër twist more and more into Záhovar with every unwelcome thrust of his hips. The vision had been so real that he half believed that _he_ had somehow caused Whindaër's change. Even now he couldn't quite shake it off, nor the guilt that came with it.  
  
Shortly after, Praktash returned. ”You're done here,” he said. ”Knocked 'em all up good, so I heard. C'mon li'l buddy, let's go back up to Záhovar. She's waitin' for ya.” Graznikh was still a little shaky, but he didn't let it stop him from grabbing his clothes and armour from Praktash and hurrying out of the pits.  
Graznikh was so exhausted that Praktash had to drag him up the last few stairs and through the hallway leading to Záhovar's quarters. She stood next to her writing desk, seemingly recovered from whatever had affected her through the bond, and looked up as they entered. Once Graznikh spotted her his weariness evaporated and his mood changed.  
”I HATE YOU!!!” he bellowed and pounced her before Praktash could even react.  
”You fucking bitch!! You sold me out! I'm no fuckin' opa-snaga to do with as ya please, ya sick twat! I've had it with yer bloody mindfuckin' an' with you ruinin' my life over an' over! Things were _fine_ before ya began stickin' yer fingers everywhere!” He pummeled her with his fists, and Praktash could only stare for a moment before he realised that Záhovar was not defending herself.  
”Stop it Graz, you'll kill her!” As he grabbed his shoulders to drag him off, Graznikh turned on him and he realised that his buddy had gone berserk. Praktash had to defend himself for a moment before knocking his buddy out cold with a fist to the face.  
Praktash sighed, rubbing his aching ribs and dragging the unconscious berserker to the bed and tied him to a bedpost beforechecking on the High Officer. Záhovar was still conscious and had kept all her teeth, but her left eye was darkened, her lip broken and she had several bruises.  
”Why didn't you defend yourself?” Praktash asked.  
”His anger... was justified.”  
”That's not the point! You coulda stopped him easily, why didn't you?”  
”I made a promise,” Záhovar hissed through bleeding lips. ”A promise that I would not... control either of you in that way.”  
”I didn't mean it like that! Shit, it didn't include you not defendin' yourself if he tries to kill ya!” Praktash sighed. ”An' no, his anger isn't justified. What ya did was the only sensible choice. Protectin' him would've made him an even bigger target, right?”  
Záhovar nodded, confirming Praktash's guess and he continued: ”I'll talk to him when he wakes up, set him straight.”  
They remained quiet for a while. Praktash focused on dabbing healing salve on Záhovar's lip when he noticed her watching him with intent eyes. ”What?”  
”I did not expect you to see things so... clearly.”  
”'Cause of what I am?”  
”No, because of who you are. Because of your past.”  
”I'm not stupid, y'know. If He'd killed ya we woulda been far worse off. Graznikh'd been dead or worse.”  
”He cannot kill me.”  
Praktash frowned. ”You woulda stopped him?”  
”Perhaps...” She fell silent. Praktash wanted to ask more, but refrained from it when he heard Graznikh stir.  
  
Setting Graznikh straight turned out to be one hell of an uphill battle, and Záhovar could hear their shouting even through the door to their room.  
”Do you understand?!” Praktash shouted. He had Graznikh pinned to the wall to keep him from attacking him.  
”Why the fuck d'you take her side?!”  
”Stop changin' the fuckin' subject! Do you understand? If you kill her we're bound for the dungeons, for real this time! The Eye's already watchin' us, d'ya really wanna piss Him off more?”  
”I don't care!”  
”Yes you do,” Praktash said a little calmer. ”If not you're a bigger idiot than I thought. But that's the problem; you've never cared, never wanted to play by the rules, thinkin' you're bloody untouchable. But it's not our game anymore, Graz! It's the High Officers' game, an' they play it dirtier than a dungpit snaga. D'you have any idea how many assassination attempts she's avoided this week?”  
That revelation was like dumping a bucket of icy water over the berserker.  
”What?” he gasped. ”I never saw anything!”  
”No, 'cause you never looked. You never bothered to check what kind of threats she's under. You signed up as her bodyguard, yet she keeps fieldin' punches aimed at _you_ instead of the other way around.” Praktash let him go and took a step back.  
”An' how d'ya know these things?”  
”I know 'cause I asked. We've talked a lot, most of it you never listened to despite bein' in the same room. She's at the bottom of the hierarchy, she's got no allies in the Tower an' no protection – no li'l buddy, you're not enough. She tries to climb but you keep draggin' her down with yer antics.”  
Graznikh worried his lip a little. ”Then what should I do? Just stop everythin'?”  
”Drop this deal with the breedin' pits. You won't go back there anyway, it's done. Work it out with Záhovar if ya want, but don't you hurt her. An' then... We gotta get things under control again, that's what. Find some trusty people an' get them under her banner, build a network, get her allies that can be relied upon – that sorta shit.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”I know some guys that might be interested. What 'bout you?”  
Praktash grinned back. ”I'm gonna take over the administration. I've got a head for numbers, might learn to read an' write too so I can do that for her an' share the load. I'm thinkin' if we knock our three heads together, what comes out'll be fuckin' glorious!”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”'I'm thinkin'... Ye're beginnin' to sound like Margzat.”  
”Who?”  
”Oh, just a drinkin' buddy o' mine. I'll introduce ya next time he's in Lugburz. You'll like him, I'm sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part three, thank you all for reading! Stay tuned for some serious kick-assery in the next part, as the skirmishing between Mordor and Númenor erupts into war.


End file.
